O good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion, And having that do choke their service up Even with the having. . . .

Fortune reigns in gifts of the world.

One fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish.

Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity. O that estates, degrees, and offices Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!

What's the newest grief? Each minute tunes a new one.

There's beggary in love that can be reckoned

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.