All difficulties are easy when they are known.
He was ever precise in promise-keeping.
The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.
You peasant swain! You whoreson malt-horse drudge!
Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.
Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet--nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.