O, reason not the need!

There's a time for all things.

These cardinals trifle with me; I abhor; This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.

I do beseech you- Though I perchance am vicious in my guess , that your wisdom yet From one that so imperfectly conjects Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance.

He's loved of the distracted multitude, who like not in their judgement, but their eyes.

I am a kind of burr; I shall stick.

Glory grows guilty of detested crimes.