There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and grows old.
So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
When the mind's free, The Body's delicate.
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.
It is the mind that makes the body rich; and as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, so honor peereth in the meanest habit.
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight, Past reason hunted, and no sooner had Past reason hated