Base natures ever judge a thing above them, and hate a power they are too much obliged to.
Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labor to overcome the cloud that loads em.
Honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten.
No praying, it spoils business.
False as the adulterate promises of favorites in power when poor men court them.
Love reigns a very tyrant in my heart.