Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.

I thought my heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.

Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet--nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.

Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken, your wind short, your chin double, your wit single, and every part about you blasted with antiquity?

Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.

Alas, I am a woman friendless, hopeless!

O father Abram, what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect The thoughts of others!