[the Play] Is Like To Be A

Minds That Are Great And Free, Should Not On Fortune Pause: 'tis Crown Enough To Virtue Still, Her Own Applause.

Ods Me I Marle What Pleasure Or Felicity They Have In Taking Their Roguish Tobacco. It Is Good For Nothing But To Choke A Man, And Fill Him Full Of Smoke And Embers.

O, For An Engine, To Keep Back All Clocks, Or Make The Sun Forget His Motion!

Money Never Made Any Man Rich, But His Mind. He That Can Order Himself To The Law Of Nature, Is Not Only Without The Sense, But The Fear Of Poverty.

Doing, A Filthy Pleasure Is, And Short; And Done, We Straight Repent Us Of The Sport: Let Us Not Rush Blindly On Unto It, Like Lustful Beasts, That Only Know To Do It: For Lust Will Languish, And That Heat Decay, But Thus, Thus, Keeping Endless Holy-.