All pity choked with custom of fell deeds.

His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.

God's will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle!

For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; At whose approach ghosts wandring here and there Troop home to church-yards.... For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They willfully exile themselves from light, And must for aye consort with black brow'd night.

Woe to that land that's governed by a child.

With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.

Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use Reason for his physician, he admits him not for his counsellor.