The last and greatest herald of Heaven's King, / Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild.

Fresh spring the herald of love's mighty king

Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much

These high wild hills and rough uneven waysDraw out our miles and make them wearisome;But yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,Making the hard way sweet and delectable.

The greatest crime in a Shakespeare play is to murder the king.

He who dares not (reason), is a slave.