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!

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

Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.

Things that are not at all, are never lost.

Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir'd his overthrow.

Accurst be he that first invented war.

Goodness is beauty in the best estate.