A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers.

For grief is crowned with consolation.

How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!

Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

Oppose not rage while rage is in its force, but give it way a while and let it waste.

Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, And say there is no sin but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be To say there is no vice but beggary

O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that do choke their service up Even with the having. . . .