Cut Men's Throats With Whisperings.

Folly Often Goes Beyond Her Bounds, But Impudence Knows None.

Let Those That Merely Talk And Never Think, That Live In The Wild Anarchy Of Drink

Indeed There's A Woundy Luck In Names.

It Is An Art To Have So Much Judgment As To Apparel A Lie Well, To Give It A Good Dressing.

If I Freely May Discover What Should Please Me In My Lover, I Would Have Her Fair And Witty, Savouring More Of Court Than City; A Little Proud, But Full Of Pity; Light And Humorous In Her Toying, Oft Building Hopes, And Soon Destroying, Long, But Sweet In The Enjoying; Neither Too Easy Nor To Hard; All Extremes I Would Have Barr'd.