Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor

Free from gross passion or of mirth of anger constant spirit, not swerving with the blood, garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment, not working with the eye without the ear, and but in purged judgement trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.

Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day.

If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul.

This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite.

Is it possible that love should of a sudden take such a hold?

So distribution should undo excess, and each man have enough.