Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death.
Ornament is but the guiled shore to a most dangerous sea.
'Tis pride that pulls the country down.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.
Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.
Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.