What Time hath scanted men in hair, he hath given them in wit.

The villany you teach me I shall execute; and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.

This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-Paradise.

Time is the king of men.

And simple truth miscalled simplicity

Is there no pity sitting in the clouds That sees into the bottom of my grief? O sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week, Or if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.

Each present joy or sorrow seems the chief.