The misery of us, that are born great, We are forced to woo because none dare woo us.

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

Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.

Lust carries her sharp whip At her own girdle.

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

Physicians are like kings- They brook no contradiction.

For the subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlest wisdom.