I Can Give The Loser Leave To

Why, All Delights Are Vain, But That Most Vain Which, With Pain Purchased, Doth Inherit Pain: As, Painfully To Pore Upon A Book, To Seek The Light Of Truth, Which Truth The While Doth Falsely Blind The Eyesight Of His Look.

Wolves And Bears, They Say, Casting Their Savagery Aside, Have Done Like Offices Of Pity.

The Summer's Flow'r Is To The Summer Sweet, Though To Itself It Only Live And Die' But If That Flow'r With Base Infection Meet, The Basest Weed Outbraves His Dignity: For Sweetest Things Turn Sourest By Their Deeds; Lilies That Fester Smell Far Worse Than Weeds.

False Face Must Hide What The False Heart Doth Know.

Excellent Wretch! Perdition Catch My Soul But I Do Love Thee! And When I Love Thee Not, Chaos Is Come Again.