The violence of either grief or joy, their own enactures with themselves destroy.

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisoned flattery?

Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of Our human generation you shall find.

By medicine life may be prolonged, yet death will seize the doctor too.

He is not worthy of the honey-comb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.

And since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself, that of yourself which you yet know not of.

Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.