God mark thee to His grace! Thou was the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed. And might I live to see thee married once, I have my wish.

I shall show the cinders of my spirits Through the ashes of my chance.

Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters.

Spirits are not finely touched But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But like a thrifty goddess she determines Herself the glory of a creditor,Both thanks and use.

In a false quarrel there is no true valor.

I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad.

That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold; What hath quenched them hath given me fire.