O Heaven! Were Man, But Constant, He

If Little Faults Proceeding On Distemper Shall Not Be Winked At, How Shall We Stretch Our Eye When Capital Crimes, Chewed, Swallowed, And Digested, Appear Before Us?

Jesu, Jesu, The Mad Days That I Have Spent! And To See How Many Of My Old Acquaintance Are Dead!

To Go To Bed After Midnight Is To Go To Bed Betimes

Nature, As It Grows Again Toward Earth, Is Fashioned For The Journey, Dull And Heavy.

There Is No Vice So Simple But Assumes Some Mark Of Virtue On His Outward Parts.