Minds that are great and free, should not on fortune pause: 'Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause.
Spread yourself upon his bosom publicly, whose heart you would eat in private.
True melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit.
Whom hatred frights, let him not dream of sovereignty.
Good men but see death, the wicked taste it.
To men pressed by their wants all change is ever welcome.