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

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

Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy tongue,
And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform.

Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy tongue,
And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform.

Leave her to Heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting read more

Leave her to Heaven,
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her.

If folly were griefe every house would weepe.

If folly were griefe every house would weepe.

An ill wound is cured, not an ill name.

An ill wound is cured, not an ill name.

A sleepy master makes his servant a Lowt.

A sleepy master makes his servant a Lowt.

Corne is cleaned with winde, and the soule with chastnings.

Corne is cleaned with winde, and the soule with chastnings.

Hee that lives ill, feare followes him.

Hee that lives ill, feare followes him.

In every Art it is good to have a master.

In every Art it is good to have a master.