John Fletcher (1579 – 1625)
Jacobean playwright.
This is a gimcrack
That can get nothing but new fashions on you.
I'll put that in my considering cap.
One good turn deserves another.
Speak boldly, and speak truly, shame the devil.
O great corrector of enormous times,
Shaker of o'er-rank states, thou grand decider
Of dusty and old titles, that healest with blood
The earth when it is sick, and curest the world
O' the pleurisy of people.
Charity and treating begin at home.
First come, first served.
Of all the paths lead to a woman's love
Pity's the straightest.
Let's meet and either do or die.
'Tis a word that's quickly spoken,
Which being restrained, a heart is broken.
Hence, all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly!
There's naught in this life sweet
But only melancholy;
O sweetest melancholy!
Thy clothes are all the soul thou hast.
From the crown of our head to the sole of our foot.
Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow
Are of those that April wears!
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.
Though I say't that should not say't.
What mare's nest hast thou found?
Let them learn first to show pity at home.
All things that are
Made for our general uses are at war,—
Even we among ourselves.