Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge, That no king can corrupt.
Bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest.
The moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven.
Parting is such sweet sorrow
Honour travels in a strait so narrow Where one but goes abreast.
Nature does require her time of preservation, which perforce, I her frail son amongst my brethren mortal, must give my attendance to.