They, who know no evil, will suspect none.

Minds that are great and free, should not on fortune pause: 'Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause.

Many punishments sometimes, and in some cases, as much discredit a prince as many funerals a physician.

Hang sorrow, care'll kill a cat.

Indeed there's a woundy luck in names.

Greatness of name, in the father, ofttimes helps not forth, but overwhelms the son: They stand too near one another. The shadow kills the growth.

Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love, Time will not be ours for ever, He, at length, our good will sever; Spend not then his gifts in vain: Suns that set may rise again; But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night. Why should we defer our joys? Fame and rumour are but toys.