While he was drunk asleep, or in his rage, or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed.

Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony

Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?

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

I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a dungeon than keep a corner in the thing I love for others uses.

The undeserver may sleep when the man of action is called on.