'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.

we are the lords of all eternity

If money go before, all ways do lie open.

All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!

Blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please.

All love's pleasure shall not match its woe.

He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.