Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.
What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off his wit!
The plants look up to heaven, from whence they have their nourishment.
He is not worthy of the honey-comb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.
O, what a world of vile ill-favored faults, looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!