So quick bright things come to confusion.​​​​​​

The love of heaven makes one heavenly.

A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm

You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both.

More matter with less art.

Ay me! for aught that ever I could read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth.

It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood.