Things Won Are Done, Joy's Soul Lies

I Am Not Prone To Weeping As Our Sex Commonly Are; The Want Of Which Vain Dew Perchance Shall Dry Your Pities; But I Have That Honorable Grief Lodged Here Which Burns Worse Than Tears Drown.

Base Men Being In Love Have Then A Nobility In Their Natures More Than Is Native To Them.

Well, If Fortune Be A Woman, She's A Good Wench For This Gear.

Through Tattered Clothes Great Vices Do Appear; Robes And Furred Gowns Hide All. Plate Sin With Gold And The Strong Lance Of Justice Hurtless Breaks. Arm It In Rags, A Pigmy's Straw Does Pierce It.

A Heavy Heart Bears Not A Nimble Tongue.