They are sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing.
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
Give obedience where 'tis truly owed.
The latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest.
His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.
Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me?