Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright, But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.

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.

Love mixed with fear is sweetness.

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

That realm is never long in quiet, where the ruler is a soldier.

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.

Though lust do masque in ne'er so strange disguise she's oft found witty, but is never wise.