When holy and devout religious men are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence; so sweet is zealous contemplation.

He that filches from me my good name robs me of that which enriches him and makes me poor indeed.

I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop.

But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.

Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all!

Greatness knows itself.

Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.