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Listen to many, speak to a few.
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As in a theatre, the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next.
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I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.
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Give thy thoughts no tongue.
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But now behold, In the quick forge and working-house of thought, How London doth pour out her citizens!
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...Vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
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So distribution should undo excess, and each man have enough.
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Love adds a precious seeing to the eye.
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What many men desire--that 'many' may be meant By the fool multitude that choose by show, Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach, Which pries not to th' interior, but like the martlet Builds in the weather on the outward wall, Even in the force and road of casualty.
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Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me.
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Preposterous ass, that never read so far to know the cause why music was ordain'd! Was it not to refresh the mind of man, after his studies or his usual pain?
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Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.
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A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing.
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There is nothing serious in Mortality
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O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple Hell?
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I scorn you, scurvy companion.
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So many horrid Ghosts.
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Come away, come away, Death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it! My part of death no one so true did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strewn: Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where Sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there!
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Thou unfit for any place but hell.
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Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is?