Things may serve long, but not serve ever.

Take but degree away, untune that string, and hark, what discord follows!

From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain and nourish all the world.

Tears water our growth.

There is a river in Macedon, and there is moreover a river in Monmouth. It is called Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both.

No doubt they rose up early to observe the rite of May; and, hearing our intent, Came here in grace of our solemnity.

The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts and is desired.