'Tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus.

There's none so foul, and foolish thereunto,
But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do.

The hand of little employment hath the daintier

sense.

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will.

There is a special providence in the fall of a

sparrow.

'Tis the curse of service,

Preferment goes by letter and affection,
Not by the old gradation where each second
Stood heir to the first.

To mourn a mischief that is past and gone

Is the next way to draw more mischief on.

The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the thief.

To be too busy is some danger.

'Tis the sport, to have the engineer Hoist with his own petar.

Trifles, light as air,

Are to the jealous confirmations strong

As proofs of holy writ.

'Tis not a year or two shews us a man.

They laugh that win.

Those that do teach young babes

Do it with gentle means and easy tasks.

Use every man after his desert, and who should 'scape whipping?

Use almost can change the stamp of nature, And master the devil, or throw him out With wondrous potency.