Gold that buys health can never be ill spent, Nor hours laid out in harmless merriment.

Poor maids have more lovers than husbands.

In all our quest of greatness, like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care, we follow after bubbles, blown in the air.

Vain the ambition of kings Who seek by trophies and dead things To leave a living name behind, And weave but nets to catch the wind.

Cowardly dogs bark loudest.

I myself have loved a lady and pursued her with a great deal of under-age protestation, whom some three or four gallants that have enjoyed would with all their hearts have been glad to have been rid of. 'Tis just like a summer birdcage in a garden: the birds that are without despair to get in, and the birds that are within despair and are in a consumption for fear they shall never get out.

See, the curse of children! In life they keep us frequently in tears, And in the cold grave leave us in pale fears.