He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

Thyself shall see the act; For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.

By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.

He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.

Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.

He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf.

While we lie tumbling in the hay.