He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.
Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
In vain our labours are, whatsoe'er they be, unless God gives the Benediction.
In things a moderation keep; Kings ought to shear, not skin, their sheep.
Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying: And this same flower that smiles to day, Tomorrow will be dying.