King Henry VI. Part III. Act iv. Sc. 8.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
King Henry VI. Part III. Act v. Sc. 6.
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York,
And all the clouds that loured upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,