Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death.

The worm is not to be trusted.

The moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven.

Knit your hearts with an unslipping knot.

There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings.

Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.