The man that hath no music in himself
Thou lump of foul deformity!
He that is proud eats up himself: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle.
Ingrateful man with liquorish draughts, and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind that from it all consideration slips.
When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.
Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life.