Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.
The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.
Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant can trickle when she wounds!
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, and that craves wary walking.
To wilful men, the injuries that they themselves procure must be their schoolmasters.
For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.