It is lost at dice, what ancient honor won.

He is well paid that is well satisfied.

Bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest.

O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do.

Silence is the perfectest herault of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much.

Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.

Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.