Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.
To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
Tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons.
I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.
O, had I but followed the arts!
He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.