I am Envy, begotten of a chimney-sweeper and an oyster-wife. I cannot read, and therefore wish all books were burnt; I am lean with seeing others eat - O that there would come a famine through all the world, that all might die, and I live alone; then thou should'st see how fat I would be! But must thou sit and I stand? Come down, with a vengeance!

Ah fair Zenocrate, divine Zenocrate, Fair is too foul an epithet for thee.

O, thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.

If we say that we have no sin, We deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us. Why then belike we must sin, And so consequently die. Ay, we must die an everlasting death.

There is no sin but ignorance.

The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike

You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute, And now and then stab, as occasion serves.