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He that but fears the thing he would not know Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes, That what he fear'd is chanced.

He that dies this year is quit for the next.

How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping! There are no faces truer than those that are so washed.

Hasty marriage seldom proveth well.

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself.

Honour's train

Is longer than his foreskirt.

He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.

He that hath a will to die by himself fears it not from another.

He that is proud eats up himself; pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed devours the deed in the praise.

He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer.

He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer

The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs

His outsides; to wear them like his raiment, carelessly,

And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,
To bring it into danger.

Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends,
I' the war do grow together.

Hollow men, like horses hot at hand,

Make gallant show and promise of their mettle; But when they should endure the bloody spur, They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades, Sink in the trial.

He that can endure

To follow with allegiance a fallen lord

Does conquer him that did his master conquer.

How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!

He that sleeps feels not the toothache.

He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.

He was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that being bid to ask what he would of the king, desired he might know none of his secrets.

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child!

Have more than thou shewest,
Speak less than thou knowest,

Lend less than thou owest.

He that has a house to put 's head in has a good head-piece.

He that is stricken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.

How poor are they that have not patience.

He that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.

He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen, Let him not know't, and he's not robb'd at all.

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