I am misanthropos, and hate mankind, For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something.

If there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it, Making it momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, Brief as the lightning in the collied night That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!' The jaws of darkness do devour it up; So quick bright things come to confusion.

Is not the truth the truth?

A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain.

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

Of all the flowers, me thinks a rose is best.

When workmen strive to do better than well, they do confound their skill in covetousness.