Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.
We wound our modesty and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them.
They love least that let men know their loves.
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
Ambition, the soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, than gain which darkens him.
Full many a glorious morn I have seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.