One whom the music of his own vain tongue doth ravish like enchanting harmony.

Many dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favors.

Ambition, the soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, than gain which darkens him.

And simple truth miscalled simplicity

The fear's as bad as falling.

where civil blood makes civil hands unclean

And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness!