For age but tastes of pleasures youth devours.

She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.

Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.

Even kings but play; and when their part is done, some other, worse or better, mounts the throne.

Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.

Few know the use of life before 'tis past.

Pains of love be sweeter far than all other pleasures are.