Sidebilder
PDF
ePub

'Tis gold

Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief;

Nay, sometime, hangs both thief and true man.

Though those that are betray'd

Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe.

To lapse in fulness

Is sorer, than to lie for need; and falsehood
Is worse in kings than beggars.

The sweat of industry would dry and die

But for the end it works to.

Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,
Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.

Though mean and mighty, rotting

Together, have one dust, yet reverence (That angel of the world), doth make distinction Of place 'tween high and low.

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.

Thanks to men

Of noble minds is honourable meed.

The raven doth not hatch a lark.

'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.

Tyrants' fears

Decrease not, but grow faster than the years.

Time's the king of men;

He's both their parent, and he is their grave, And gives them what he will, not what they

crave.

Truth can never be confirm'd enough,

Though doubts did ever sleep.

To plainness honour's bound,

When majesty stoops to folly.

Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides ;
Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.

Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when Lady, the brach, may stand by the fire and stink.

That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain,
And follows but for form,

Will pack when it begins to rain,
And leave thee in the storm.

To wilful men,

The injuries that they themselves procure
Must be their schoolmasters.

There was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.

The art of our necessities is strange Ja That can make vile things precious.

The worst is not

So long as we can say, "This is the worst."

[ocr errors][merged small]

Mar

The mind much sufferance doth o'erskip When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.

'Tis the times' plague when madmen lead the

blind.

Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear;
Robes and furr'd gowns hide all.

The best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd

By those that feel their sharpness.

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us.

The weakest goes to the wall.

Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning.

That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story.

Two may keep counsel, putting one away.

The sweetest honey

Is loathsome in his own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite.

Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

They are but beggars that can count their worth.

'Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.

There are more things in heaven and earth
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

The great man down, you mark his favourite flies;
The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies.

To know a man well were to know himself.

"

« ForrigeFortsett »