O, I Have Suffered With Those That

Every Man Has Business And Desire, Such As It Is.

Give Me A Bowl Of Wine, In This I Bury All Unkindness.

The Past Is Prologue.

Self-love, My Liege, Is Not So Vile A Sin, As Self-neglecting.

This Fellow Is Wise Enough To Play The Fool; And To Do That Well Craves A Kind Of Wit: He Must Observe Their Mood On Whom He Jests, The Quality Of Persons, And The Time, And, Like The Haggard, Check At Every Feather That Comes Before His Eye. This Is A Practise As Full Of Labour As A Wise Man's Art For Folly That He Wisely Shows Is Fit; But Wise Men, Folly-fall'n, Quite Taint Their Wit.