True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.

Few sometimes may know, when thousands err.

Lifted up so high I disdained subjection, and thought one step higher would set me highest.

Incens'd with indignation Satan stood Unterrify'd, and like a comet burn'd That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war.

Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shown in courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, where most may wonder at the workmanship.

None can love freedom heartily, but good men; the rest love not freedom, but license.

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise. That last infirmity of noble mind. To scorn delights, and live laborious days.