Spirits are not finely touched But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But like a thrifty goddess she determines Herself the glory of a creditor,Both thanks and use.

Being your slave what should I do but tend, Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend; Nor services to do till you require.

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

Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat; Of habits devil, is angel yet in this.

There's rosemary and rue. These keep Seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you.

Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified.

Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness.