Though Patience Be A Tired Mare, Yet

Tis But A Base, Ignoble Mind That Mounts No Higher Than A Bird Can Soar.

A Gentleman That Loves To Hear Himself Talk, Will Speak More In A Minute Than He Will Stand To In A Month.

I Have Heard Of Your Paintings Too, Well Enough; God Has Given You One Face, And You Make Yourselves Another: You Jig, You Amble, And You Lisp, And Nick-name God's Creatures, And Make Your Wantonness Your Ignorance. Go To, I'll No More On't; It Hath Made Me Mad.

That Affable Familiar Ghost Which Nightly Gulls Him With Intelligence.

Praising What Is Lost Makes The Remembrance Dear