'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all wither'd.

It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.

Fortune reigns in gifts of the world.

All pity choked with custom of fell deeds.

O sir, you are old; nature in you stands on the very verge of her confine; you should be ruled and led by some discretion, that discerns your fate better than you yourself.

O! that a man might know The end of this day's business, ere it come; But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known.

Nothing can seem foul to those who win.