There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.

To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars.

If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!

I fill up a place, which may be better... when I have made it empty.

This is the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. Away; go. They say there is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death.

Wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first suit is hot and hasty like a Scotch jig--and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes repentance and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into his grave.

We bring forth weeds when our quick minds lie still.