Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.

And out of good still to find means of evil.

Contemplation is wisdom's best nurse.

Believe and be confirmed.

Luck is the residue of design.

All seemed well pleased, all seemed, but were not all.

First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.