Tis mad idolatry To make the service greater than the god.
O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, / That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!
Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me.
Trust not your daughter's minds By what you see them act.
Tempt not a desperate man
Un-thread the rude eye of rebellion, and welcome home again discarded faith.