I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him.
What is aught but as 'tis valued?
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects treachery?
Extremity is the trier of spirits.
O, how full of briers is this working-day world!
Time and the hour run through the roughest day.