O, how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors.
There's beggary in love that can be reckoned
The plants look up to heaven, from whence they have their nourishment.
Hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig.
There is not one wise man in twenty that will praise himself.
He's of the colour of the nutmeg. And of the heat of the ginger.... he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him; he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.