Is this government of Britain's Isle, and this the royalty of Albion's King?

Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears.

Can I go forward when my heart is here?

Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.

Die for adultery! No: The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly does lecher in my sight

Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people.

So may the outward shows be least themselves: The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.