A Good Man's Fortune May Grow Out

Yet Do I Fear Thy Nature; It Is Too Full O' The Milk Of Human Kindness To Catch The Nearest Way: Thou Wouldst Be Great; Art Not Without Ambition, But Without The Illness Should Attend It: What Thou Wouldst Highly, That Wouldst Thou Holily; Wouldst Not Play False, And Yet Wouldst Wrongly Win.

Say, What Abridgement Have You For This Evening? What Masque, What Music? How Shall We Beguile The Lazy Time If Not With Some Delight?

Rebellion In This Land Shall Lose His Sway, Meeting The Check Of Such Another Day.

I Was Adored Once Too.

O My Good Lord, That Comfort Comes Too Late, 'tis Like A Pardon After Execution. That Gentle Physic, Given In Time, Had Cured Me; But Now I Am Past All Comforts Here But Prayers.