The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.
Oh God! that one might read the book of fate, And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent, Weary of solid firmness, melt itself Into the sea.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
I can express no kinder sign of love, than this kind kiss.
Men must learn now with pity to dispense; For policy sits above conscience.