In those vernal seasons of the year when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against nature not to go out and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth.

None But such as are good men can give good things, And that which is not good, is not delicious To a well-govern'd and wise appetite.

Oh, shame to men! devil with devil damn'd Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational.

He that can apprehend and consider vice with all her baits and seeming pleasures, and yet abstain, and yet distinguish, and yet prefer that which is truly better, he is the true wayfaring Christian. I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat. Assuredly we bring not innocence into the world, we bring impurity much rather: that which purifies us is trial, and trial is by what is contrary.

Accuse not nature: she hath done her part; Do thou but thine.

Midnight shout and revelry, Tipsy dance and jollity.

That power Which erring men call Chance.