Truth hath a quiet breast.
How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping?
Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!
Still it cried ‘Sleep no more!’ to all the house: ‘Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more,—Macbeth shall sleep no more!
With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.