It Is An Art To Have So

Forbear, You Things That Stand Upon The Pinnacles Of State, To Boast Your Slippery Height! When You Do Fall, You Dash Yourselves In Pieces, Ne'er To Rise: And He That Lends You Pity, Is Not Wise.

Follow A Shadow, It Still Flies You, Seem To Fly, It Will Pursue: So Court A Mistress, She Denies You; Let Her Alone, She Will Court You. Say Are Not Women Truly, Then, Styled But The Shadows Of Us Men?

There Is No Bounty To Be Showed To Such As Have Real Goodness: Bounty Is A Spice Of Virtue; And What Virtuous Act Can Take Effect On Them That Have No Power Of Equal Habitude To Apprehend It?

Fortune, That Favors Fools.

Words Borrowed Of Antiquity Do Lend A Kind Of Majesty To Style, And Are Not Without Their Delight Sometimes. For They Have The Authority Of Years, And Out Of Their Intermission Do Win To Themselves A Kind Of Grace-like Newness. But The Eldest Of The Present, And Newest Of The Past Language, Is The Best.