How Sometimes Nature Will Betray Its Folly,

What A Pretty Thing Man Is When He Goes In His Doublet And Hose And Leaves Off His Wit!

Love Is A Smoke Made With The Fume Of Sighs.

It Easeth Some, Though None It Ever Cured, To Think Their Dolour Others Have Endured.

Do Not, As Some Ungracious Pastors Do, Show Me The Steep And Thorny Way To Heaven; Whilst, Like A Puff'd And Reckless Libertine, Himself The Primrose Path Of Dalliance Treads And Recks Not His Own Read.

There Was Never Yet Fair Woman But She Made Mouths In A Glass.