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The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men; the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
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Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies!
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Justice always whirls in equal measure.
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To saucy doubts and fears.
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Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.
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Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.
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How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done!
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I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.
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I do not set my life at a pin's fee, And for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself?
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Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
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Greatness knows itself.
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Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance?
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When I waked, I cried to dream again
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I have bought golden opinions from all sorts of people.
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And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness!
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I am as true as truth's simplicity, And simpler than the infancy of truth.
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Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head; not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
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This is a way to kill a wife with kindness.
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Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak.
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Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.
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Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.
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To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.
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Good wombs have borne bad sons." -- (Miranda, I:2)