Sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye.
Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.
Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending.
Is not the truth the truth?
A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!
Is this government of Britain's Isle, and this the royalty of Albion's King?