Words Are Grown So False,

Tears Harden Lust, Though Marble Wear With Raining.

O God, O God, How Weary, Stale, Flat, And Unprofitable Seem To Me All The Uses Of This World!

Ignorance Is The Curse Of God; Knowledge Is The Wing Wherewith We Fly To Heaven.

They Do Not Abuse The King That Flatter Him. For Flattery Is The Bellows Blows Up Sin; The Thing The Which Is Flattered, But A Spark To Which That Blast Gives Heat And Stronger Glowing.

Upon His Royal Face There Is No Note How Dread An Army Hath Enrounded Him.