Foul Whisperings Are Abroad

Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loath To Prove Reason With Them.

Ingratitude Is Monstrous; And For The Multitude To Be Ingrateful Were To Make A Monster Of The Multitude; Of Which We Being Members, Should Bring Ourselves To Be Monstrous Members.

I Have Sounded The Very Base-string Of Humility.

This Fellow Is Wise Enough To Play The Fool; And To Do That Well Craves A Kind Of Wit: He Must Observe Their Mood On Whom He Jests, The Quality Of Persons, And The Time, And, Like The Haggard, Check At Every Feather That Comes Before His Eye. This Is A Practise As Full Of Labour As A Wise Man's Art For Folly That He Wisely Shows Is Fit; But Wise Men, Folly-fall'n, Quite Taint Their Wit.

Not Proud You Have, But Thankful That You Have. Proud Can I Never Be Of What I Hate, But Thankful Even For Hate That Is Meant Love.