Done to death by slanderous tongue

Violent fires soon burn out themselves, small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; he tires betimes that spurs too fast.

Winter, which, being full of care, makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.

That which in mean men we entitle patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.

Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

There's a time for all things.

Well could he ride, and often men would say, "That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!" And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.