Conceit, More Rich In Matter Than In

Would I Were Dead, If God's Good Will Were So, For What Is In This World But Grief And Woe?

I Can Easier Teach Twenty What Were Good To Be Done, Than Be One Of The Twenty To Follow Mine Own Teaching.

I Will Make A Star-chamber Matter Of It.

Look On Beauty, And You Shall See 'tis Purchased By The Weight; Which Therein Works A Miracle In Nature, Making Them Lightest That Wear Most Of It: So Are Those Crisped Snaky Golden Locks Which Make Such Wanton Gambols With The Wind Upon Supposed Fairness, Often Known To Be The Dowry Of A Second Head, The Skull That Bred Them In The Sepulchre.

I Am Afeard There Are Few Die Well That Die In Battle, For How Can They Charitably Dispose Of Anything When Blood Is Their Argument?