All the damnable degrees Of drinking have you staggered through.

Lay this unto your breast: Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best.

I have long served virtue, And never ta'en wages of her.

Man is most happy, when his own actions are arguments and examples of his virtue.

Are you grown an atheist? Will you turn your body, Which is the goodly palace of the soul, To the soul's slaughter-house? Oh, the curse' d devil, Which doth present us with all other sins Thrice-candied o'er.

I do love these ancient ruins. We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history.

That friend a great man's ruin strongly checks, who rails into his belief all his defects.