Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.

In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?

Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words

Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, Of habits devil, is angel yet in this, That to the use of actions fair and good He likewise gives a frock or livery That aptly is put on. Refrain tonight, And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence; the next more easy; For use almost can change the stamp of nature.

For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.

One good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages.

Golden lads and girls all must as chimney sweepers come to dust.