Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.
He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf.
Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye.
Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.
As there comes light from heaven and words from breath, As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue