How much more doth beauty beauteous seem by that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
Let the end try the man.
it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance
Have more than you show, Speak less than you know.
That affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence.
Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.