Oh, yes, thy sins Do run before thee to fetch fire from hell, To light thee thither.

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

Oh, yes, thy sins Do run before thee to fetch fire from hell, To light thee thither.

How many ills spring from adultery? First the supreme law that is violated, Nobility oft stain'd with bastardy, Inheritance of land falsely possessed, The husband scorn'd, wife sham'd, and babes unbless'd.

A politician is the devil's quilted anvil; He fashions all sins on him, and the blows are never heard.

For the subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlest wisdom.

Ambition, madam, is a great man's madness.