You told a lie, an odious damned lie; Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.
Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. O these deliberate fools!
The coward dies a thousand deaths, the valiant, only once!
I am a feather for each wind that blows
Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat; Of habits devil, is angel yet in this.
Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light.