Ay, Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.
What's brave, what's noble, let's do it after the Roman fashion.
Twas a clever quibble. Here, a garment for it.
O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.
Doubt is a thief that often makes us fear to tread where we might have won.
Faith, there hath been many great men that have flattered the people who ne'er loved them.