To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars.
I have no way and therefore want no eyes I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen our means secure us, and our mere defects prove our commodities.
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.
His worst fault is, he's given to prayer; he is something peevish that way.
Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.