Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
The Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy
The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
Spirits are not finely touched But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But like a thrifty goddess she determines Herself the glory of a creditor,Both thanks and use.
I never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire.