What, man, defy the devil. Consider, he's an enemy to mankind.

An arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England.

O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?

Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words

Let life be short, else shame will be too long.

Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.