Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog.

Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity, made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.

The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart-see, they bark at me.

Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge, That no king can corrupt.

Being daily swallowed by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June. Heard, not regarded.

Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself