Striving to be better, oft we mar what's well.

For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.

Mind your speech a little lest you should mar your fortunes.

And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not

O, pardon me, my lord! it oft falls out,To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean.I something do excuse the thing I hate.

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