Joys season'd high, and tasting strong of guilt.
A God all mercy is a God unjust.
The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss; it breaks at every breeze.
The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
'T is impious in a good man to be sad.
Some wits, too, like oracles, deal in ambiguities, but not with equal success; for though ambiguities are the first excellence of an imposter, they are the last of a wit.