That realm is never long in quiet, where the ruler is a soldier.
Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright, But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.
All the damnable degrees Of drinking have you staggered through.
All things do help the unhappy man to fall.
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.
Man is most happy, when his own actions are arguments and examples of his virtue.