The misery of us, that are born great, We are forced to woo because none dare woo us.
A politician is the devil's quilted anvil; He fashions all sins on him, and the blows are never heard.
Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burn brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweethearts, are surest, and old lovers are soundest.
Eagles commonly fly alone. They are crows, daws, and starlings that flock together.
How tedious is a guilty conscience!
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.