He that wrongs a friend Wrongs himself more, and ever bears about A silent court of justice in his breast, Himself the judge and jury, and himself The prisoner at the bar ever condemned.

Better not be at all than not be noble.

A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.

I do but sing because I must; and pipe but as the linnets sing.

That man's the best cosmopolite Who loves his native country best.

The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.

All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.