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.

Whom hatred frights, let him not dream of sovereignty.

It strikes! one, two, Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch, Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest; Would thou could'st make the time to do so too; I'll wind thee up no more.

All discourses but my own afflict me; they seem harsh, impertinent, and irksome

Rich apparel has strange virtues; it makes him that hath it without means esteemed for an excellent wit; he that enjoys it with means puts the world in remembrance of his means.

Many might go to heaven with half the labour they go to hell, if they would venture their industry the right way.

Very few men are wise by their own council, or learned by their own teaching. For he that was only taught by himself, had a fool for a master.