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.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.

I must be cruel only to be kind;Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.

The evil that men do lives after them the good is oft interred with their bones.

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

One man in his time plays many parts.