The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.

And then he drew a dial from his poke, And looking with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see', Quoth he, 'how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot.

I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.

Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honour's at the stake.

In maiden meditation, fancy free.

I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, To share with me in glory any more: Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.

A jest's prosperity lies in the ear