His life was gentle; and the elements So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!

Silence is the perfectest herault of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much.

Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.

Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.

Delivers in such apt and gracious words that aged ears play truant at his tales; And younger hearings are quite ravished; So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

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

Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.