What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.

One sin another doth provoke.

You must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.

They told me I was everything. 'Tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

But men are men; the best sometimes forget.

To be furious, is to be frighted out of fear.