Four days will quickly steep themselves in nights; Four nights will quickly dream away the time; And then the moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven, shall behold the night of our solemnities.

So our virtues lie in the interpretation of the time

But like of each thing that in season grows.

Get thee to a nunnery.

He was not so much brain as earwax

Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.

The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.