This Sanguine Coward, This Bed-presser, This Horseback-breaker,

Now The Melancholy Of God Protect Thee, And The Tailor Make Thy Doublet Of Changable Taffata, For Thy Mind Is A Very Opal. I Would Have Men Of Such Constancy Put To Sea, That Their Business Might Be Everything, And Their Intent Everywhere, For That's It, That Always Makes A Good Voyage Of Nothing.

What Is A Man, If His Chief Good And Market Of His Time Be But To Sleep And Feed? A Beast, No More. Sure He That Made Us With Such Large Discourse, Looking Before And After, Gave Us Not That Capability And God-like Reason To Fust In Us Unused.

And What’s He Then That Says I Play The Villain?

Tis Time To Fear When Tyrants Seem To Kiss.

You Have Too Much Respect Upon The World; They Lose It That Do Buy It With Much Care