Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove.
Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; but, God He knows, thy share thereof is small.
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry.
Here was a Caesar! When comes such another?
I am misanthropos, and hate mankind, For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something.
Oh! it offends me to the soul to hear a robust periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings.