The brazen trump of iron-winged fame, That mingleth faithful troth with forged lies. - Edward Fairfax

Women have tongues of craft, and hearts of guile,
They will, they will not, fools that on them trust,
For in their speech is death, hell in their smile.

Vile man, begot of clay, and born of dust.

A narrow room our glory vain upties,
A little circle doth our pride contain,
Earth like an isle amid the water lies,
Which sea sometime is called, sometime the main,
Yet naught therein responds a name so great,
It's but a lake, a pond, a marish strait.