There's nothing that allays an angry mind So soon as a sweet beauty. - John Fletcher

Three merry boys, and three merry boys, And three merry boys are we,
As ever did sing in a hempen string Under the gallow-tree.

Death hath so many doors to let out life.

Go far—too far you cannot, still the farther
The more experience finds you: And go sparing;—
One meal a week will serve you, and one suit,
Through all your travels; for you'll find it certain,
The poorer and the baser you appear,
The more you look through still.