And be these juggling fiends no more believed, that palter with us in a double sense; that keep the word of promise to our ear, and break it to our hope.
‘Tis too much proved, that with devotion’s visage and pious action we do sugar o’er the devil himself.
Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth.
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, the which in every language I pronounce, stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
Lord, lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirit of light.
All that glisters is not gold.
Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
Thy promises are like Adonis’ garden that one day bloomed and fruitful were the next.
Thou wear a lion’s hide! doff it for shame, and hang a calf’s-skin on those recreant limbs.
These lies are like their father that begets them – gross as a mountain, open, palpable.
There’s no art to find the mind’s construction in the face.
