Time's the king of men; he's both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.

We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.

Men should be what they seem.

Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary.

Children wish fathers looked but with their eyes; fathers that children with their judgment looked; and either may be wrong.

And be these juggling friends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.