Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.

I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.

The old folk, time's doting chronicles.

So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.

Thus play I in one person many people, And none contented: sometimes am I king; Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, And so I am: then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I king'd again: and by and by Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be, Nor I nor any man that but man is With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased With being nothing.

Thus weary of the world, away she hies, And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid Their mistress mounted through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is convey'd; Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen Means to immure herself and not be seen.