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472 Silence most expressive of happiness.
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much.
O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do! not knowing what they do!
Death may usurp on nature many hours,
The overpressed spirits.
The art and practic part of life
Must be the mistress to the theoric.*
Some kind of men put quarrels purposely on others, to taste their valour.
Friendship's full of dregs:
Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs, Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies.
Who is so full of grace, that it flows over
On all that need?
Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand Is perjured to the bosom?
Where two raging fires meet together,
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury:
†Than summer-sinning lust.
Though little fire grows great with little wind,
Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding fresh,
But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter?
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Others there are,
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves;
Do themselves homage.
expense of spirit in a waste of shame
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
Man changed by outward circumstances.
At all times alike
Men are not still the same; 'Twas time and griefs,
The effects of fear and sloth.
Most often do so near the bottom run,
By their own fear, or sloth.
The time will bring on summer,
When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns,
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind+
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Though thou the waters warp,
As friend remember'd‡ not.
For my means, I'll husband them so well,
Man to be studied before trusted.
'Tis not a year or two shows us a man:
They are all but stomachs, and we all but food;
They belch us.
* As briars have sweetness with their prickles, so shall troubles be
recompensed with joy.
Grief in experience and inexperience.
True grief is fond, and testy as a child,
Who, wayward once, his mood with nought agrees.
The power of natural affection.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young:
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes,
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings
The poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,*
Service seldom duly rewarded.
The merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer.
Oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us
In deepest consequence.†
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
* Fight for.
Acts xvi. 16-18.
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Shall time's best jewel from time's chest lie hid?
What poor duty cannot do,
Noble respect takes it in might, not merit.
I read as much, as from the rattling tongue
Conscience, it makes a man a coward; a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him. 24-i. 4.
500 Troubles aggravated by the view of what would
"Tis double death to drown in ken of shore:
Fear, and be slain; no worse can come, to fight: