Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.

Nor age so eat up my invention.

What the great ones do, the less will prattle of

Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion

So may the outward shows be least themselves: The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done!