Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.

I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie.

. . from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done.

All thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test; here, afore heaven, I ratify this my rich gift.

Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other side

The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.