If Love Be Blind, Love Cannot Hit

Wisdom And Goodness To The Vile Seem Vile; Filths Savour But Themselves.

This Day's Black Fate On More Days Doth Depend; This But Begins The Woe, Others Must End.

Every Inordinate Cup Is Unbless'd, And The Ingredient Is A Devil.

There Is A Time In The Affairs Of Men, Which, Taken At The Flood, Leads On To Fortune.

They Have A Plentiful Lack Of Wit.