A right judgment draws us a profit from all things we see .
As I love the name of honour more than I fear death.
one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your eye and the poison of the old one would die.
'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all wither'd.
O' What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!
To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still.