No town can keep a man, but men keep towns.

The deepest rivers make least din, The silent soule doth most abound in care.

There whil'st the world prov'd prodigal of breath, the headless trunks lay prostrated in heaps; this field of funerals sacred unto death, did paint out horror in most hideous shapes: whil'st men unhors'd, horses unmast'red, stray'd, some call'd on those whom they most dearly lov'd, some rag'd, some groan'd, some sigh'd, roar'd, promis'd, pray'd, as blows, falls, faintness, pain, hope, anguish mov'd.

Not beauty, no, but virtue rais'd my fires, whose sacred flame did cherish chaste desires.

While as he yet doth breath extend, no man is blest; behold the end.

No town can keep a man, but men keep towns.

Great conquests trouble, where contempt may please -- the one yields glory, and the other ease.