Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who hath any honesty in him.

Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.

To England will I steal, and there I'll steal.

Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.

The jury passing on the prisoner's life may in the sworn twelve have a thief or two guiltier than him they try.

The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!