Fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the bigger.

Diseases desperate grown By desperate appliances are relieved, Or not at all.

O, how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors.

Shall I compare thee to a summer day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate... When in eternal lines to time thou growst So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Why, who cries out on pride that can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea till the weary very means do ebb?

O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!