O! How vain and vile a passion is this fear! What base uncomely things it makes men do.

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.

As it is a great point of art, when our matter requires it, to enlarge and veer out all sail, so to take it in and contract it is of no less praise when the argument doth ask it.

Tis the common disease of all your musicians that they know no mean, to be entreated, either to begin or end.

Ods me I marle what pleasure or felicity they have in taking their roguish tobacco. It is good for nothing but to choke a man, and fill him full of smoke and embers.

True melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit.

It is virtue that gives glory; that will endenizen a man everywhere.