None can cure their harms by wailing them.
The iron tongue of Midnight hath told twelve lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outstep the coming morn as much as we this night over-watch'd.
Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek.
On the batโs back I do fly After summer merrily.
Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.
Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge of thine own cause.