He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.
It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.
Fain would I kiss my Julia's dainty leg, Which is as white and hairless as an egg.
In vain our labours are, whatsoe'er they be, unless God gives the Benediction.
Who covets more is evermore a slave.
But ne'er the rose without the thorn.