Men At Some Time Are

This Is The Very Ecstasy Of Love, Whose Violent Property Ordoes Itself And Leads The Will To Desperate Undertakings.

Whatever Praises Itself But In The Deed, Devours The Deed In The Praise.

If Chance Will Have Me King, Why, Chance May Crown Me.

Such Antics Do Not Amount To A Man.

But We Have Reason To Cool Our Raging Motions, Our Carnal Stings, Our Unbitted Lusts; Whereof I Take This That You Call Love To Bea Sect Or Scion.... It Is Merely A Lust Of The Blood And A Permission Of The Will.