I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety.
I will speak daggers to her, but use none; My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites.
I will praise any man that will praise me.
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; For grief is proud and makes his owner stoop.
I will be gone, that pitiful rumour may report my flight, to consolate thine ear.
I were better to be eaten to death with rust, than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
I was adored once too.
I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchman to my hear.
I see; and see, that the fashion wears out more apparel than the man.
I see my reputation is at stake; My fame is shrewdly gor’d.
I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire.