This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.
What a fool honesty is.
Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.
If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity; but you gods will give us Some faults to make us men.