The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.
The loyalty well held to fools does make our faith mere folly.
The king’s name is a tower of strength, Which they upon the adverse party want.
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it because we see it; but what we do not see we tread upon, and never think of it.
The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes.
The hind that would be mated by the lion must die for love.
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices make instruments to plague us.
The force of his own merit makes his way.
The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.
The fishes live in the sea. Why as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones.
