Oh love! thou bane of the most generous souls!

Cowards in scarlet pass for men of war.

Mankind, from Adam, have been women's fools; Women, from Eve, have been the devil's tools: Heaven might have spar'd one torment when we fell; Not left us woman, or not threatened hell.

Whoe'er thou art, thy Lord and master see, Thou wast my Slave, thou art, or thou shalt be.

Happy the man, of mortals happiest he, Whose quiet mind from vain desires is free; Whom neither hopes deceive, nor fears torment, But lives at peace, within himself content; In thought, or act, accountable to none But to himself, and to …

['T]is the talk, and not the intrigue, that's the crime.

A villain, when he seems most kind, Is most to be suspected.