Ambition, madam, is a great man's madness.
Lust carries her sharp whip At her own girdle.
All the damnable degrees Of drinking have you staggered through.
Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright, But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.
I have long served virtue, And never ta'en wages of her.
That realm is never long in quiet, where the ruler is a soldier.