My charity is outrage, life my shame; And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage!
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven
He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.
O that men's ears should be To counsel deaf but not to flattery!
We, ignorant of ourselves, Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers Deny us for our good; so find we profit By losing of our prayers.
As in a theatre, the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next.