The hind that would be mated with the lion Must die of love. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie Which we ascribe to heaven. The fated sky Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. My friends were poor but honest.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises.
It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks. They say miracles are past. I know a man that had this trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song. No legacy is so rich as honesty. Simply the thing I am Shall make me live.