Kisses are but like sands of gold and silver, found upon the ground which are not worth much themselves but as they promise a mine near too be dig'd.

Our Poets make us laugh at Tragœdy, And with their Comoedies they make us cry.

Kisses are but like sands of gold and silver, found upon the ground which are not worth much themselves but as they promise a mine near too be dig'd.

She that would raise a noble love must find Ways to beget a passion for her mind; She must be that which she to the world would seem, For all true love is grounded on esteem: Plainness and truth gain more a generous heart Than all the crooked subtleties of art.

I drink, I huff, I strut, look big and stare; And all this I can do, because I dare.

For all true love is grounded on esteem.

What a Devil is the Plot good for, but to bring in fine things?