I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.
Art made tongue-tied by authority.
There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history, fully unfold.
What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer.