Have more than you show, Speak less than you know.

In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life.

If our virtues did not go forth of us, it were all alike as if we had them not.

Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in.

When our actions do not, our fears make us traitors.

For as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings, Or as tie heresies that men do leave Are hated most of those they did deceive, So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, Of all be hated, but the most of me!

Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity