How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.

A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it.

A little more than kin, and less than kind.

Remuneration! O! That's the Latin word for three farthings

To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars.

For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

Well, honor is the subject of my story.