I may command where I adore.

This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.

Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.

When once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right.

We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror.

Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege; The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.

He doth nothing but talk of his horses.