Things Without All Remedy Should

What's The News? None, My Lord, But That The World's Grown Honest, Then Is Doomsday Near.

Should The Poor Be Flattered? No; Let The Candied Tongue Lick Absurd Pomp, And Crook The Pregnant Hinges Of The Knee Where Thrift May Follow Fawning.

Rumour Doth Double, Like The Voice And Echo, The Numbers Of The Feared.

These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends.

That Which Ordinary Men Are Fit For, I Am Qualified In. And The Best Of Me Is Diligence.