When once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right.

Thrust your head into the public street, to gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces.

Know more than other. Work more than other. Expect less than other

Get thee glass eyes, and like a scurvy politician, seem to see the things thou dost not.

O, swear not by the moon, the fickle moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable

Affection, mistress of passion, sways it to the mood of what it likes or loathes.

Speak comfortable words.