A Very Honest Woman But Something Given

Under The Colour Of Commending Him I Have Access My Own Love To Prefer; But Silvia Is Too Fair, Too True, Too Holy, To Be Corrupted With My Worthless Gifts.

When Our Actions Do Not, Our Fears Make Us Traitors.

'tis Not To Make Me Jealous To Say My Wife Is Fair, Feeds Well, Loves Company, Is Free Of Speech, Sings, Plays, And Dances Well; Where Virtue Is, These Are More Virtuous.

Indeed, Sir, He That Sleeps Feels Not The Toothache; But A Man That Were To Sleep Your Sleep, And A Hangman To Help Him To Bed, I Think He Would Change Places With His Officer; For Look You, Sir, You Know Not Which Way You Shall Go.

Moderate Lamentation Is The Right Of The Dead, Excessive Grief The Enemy To The Living.