Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear.
Do not plunge thyself too far in anger.
Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear
I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.
No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceived, my substance is not here.
Women are not In their best fortunes strong, but want will perjure the ne'er-touched vestal.