Can we outrun the heavens?

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.

Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.

You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser.

All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told: Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold: Gilded tombs do worms enfold.

Hast any philosophy in thee shepherd? .• • • • . . . He that wants money, means and content, is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.

Tis not the many oaths that make the truth; But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.