When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.

Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.

The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.

How my achievements mock me!

Sweet love! Sweet lines! Sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn

Weariness can snore upon the flint when resting sloth finds the down pillow hard.