An envious fever of pale and bloodless emulation.

Here will be an old abusing of God's patience and the king's English.

Patience is sottish, and impatience does become a dog that's mad.

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?

Give to a gracious message An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell Themselves when they be felt.

The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.

Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.