The present eye praises the present object.

O call not me to justify the wrong, That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, Use power with power, and slay me not by art.

Should the poor be flattered? No; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, and crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning.

Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful

Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, but still remember what the Lord hath done.

He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter.

O tiger's heart wrapped in a woman's hide!