The truth you speak doth lack some gentlenessAnd time to speak it in. You rub the soreWhen you should bring the plaster.

Great men may jest with saints 'tis wit in them But in the less foul profanation.

Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of DenmarkIs by a forged process of my deathRankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,The serpent that did sting thy father's lifeNow wears his crown.

Sweet are the uses of adversity.

Well, heaven forgive him! And forgive us all! Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall: Some run from brakes of ice, and answer none: And some condemned for a fault alone.

O hell! To choose love by another's eye.