Oh That Thou Hadst Like

I Have Play'd The Fool, The Gross Fool, To Believe The Bosom Of A Friend Will Hold A Secret Mine Own Could Not Contain.

From The King To The Beggar, By Gradation, All Are Servants; And You Must Grant, The Slavery Is Less To Study To Please One, Than Many.

Virtue, Thou In Rags, May Challenge More Than Vice Set Off With All The Trim Of Greatness.

We Have Not An Hour Of Life In Which Our Pleasures Relish Not Some Pain, Our Sours, Some Sweetness.

Ambition, In A Private Man Is A Vice, Is In A Prince The Virtue.