Men’s evil manners live in brass$$$ their virtues
We write in water.

Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee:
Corruption wins not more than honesty.

A load would sink a navy: too much honour.

I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities$$$
A still and quiet conscience.

I have touched the highest point of all my greatness$$$
And from that full meridian of my glory$$$
I haste now to my setting. I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening$$$
And no man see me more.

Orpheus$$$ with his lute made trees$$$
And the mountain tops that freeze$$$
Bow themselves when he did sing.

Tis better to be lowly born$$$
And range with humble livers in content$$$
Than to be perked up in a glist’ring grief$$$
And wear a golden sorrow.

The mirror of all courtesy.

Tis but the fate of place$$$ and the rough brake
That virtue must go through.

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself.