That Truth Should Be Silent I Had

Sin, That Amends, Is But Patched With Virtue.

The Moon's An Arrant Thief, And Her Pale Fire She Snatches From The Sun.

The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow New Bent In Heaven.

Costly Thy Habit [dress] As Thy Purse Can Buy; But Not Expressed In Fancy - Rich, Not Gaudy. For The Apparel Oft Proclaims The Man.

The Amity That Wisdom Knits Not, Folly May Easily Untie.