I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.

So quick bright things come to confusion.​​​​​​

I like not fair terms and a villain's mind.

The whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

So may the outward shows be least themselves: The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.

Love reasons without reason.

The fear's as bad as falling.