There's many a man has more hair than wit.
When you depart from me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave.
Thou canst not say I did it; never shake Thy gory locks at me.
They say best men are moulded out of faults, And for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad.
Death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all, all shall die.
The man that once did sell the lion's skin While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him.
'Tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god.
I am whipped and scourged with rods, Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear Of this vile politician Bolingbroke.
God keep lead out of me!
When rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what price they will.