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Tell troth and shame the devil.

Ben Jonson

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Ben Jonson
Age: 65 †
Born: 1572
Born: June 21
Died: 1637
Died: August 6
Actor
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Benjamin Jonson
Tell
Truth
Troth
Shame
Devil

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What excellent fools religion makes of men.
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Calumnies are answered best with silence.
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Forbear, you things That stand upon the pinnacles of state, To boast your slippery height! when you do fall, You dash yourselves in pieces, ne'er to rise: And he that lends you pity, is not wise.
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I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t'inflict another wound. Yet dare I not complain, or wish for death With holy Paul lest it be thought the breath Of discontent or that these prayers be For weariness of life, not love of thee.
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The man that is once hated, both his good and his evil deeds oppress him.
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The poet is the nearest borderer upon the orator.
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A good man will avoid the spot of any sin. The very aspersion is grievous, which makes him choose his way in his life, as he would in his journey.
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Poor worms, they hiss at me, whilst I at home Can be contented to applaud myself, . . . with joy To see how plump my bags are and my barns.
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Freedom doth with degree dispense.
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Cares that have entered once in the breast, will have whole possession of the rest.
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To speak and to speak well are two things. A fool may talk, but a wise man speaks.
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The soul of man is infinite in what it covets.
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Truth is man's proper good, and the only immortal thing was given to our mortality to use.
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Affliction teacheth a wicked person sometime to pray prosperity never.
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It strikes! one, two, Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch, Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest Would thou could'st make the time to do so too I'll wind thee up no more.
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The day For whose returns, and many, all these pray And so do I.
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Many punishments sometimes, and in some cases, as much discredit a prince as many funerals a physician.
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Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love, Time will not be ours for ever, He, at length, our good will sever Spend not then his gifts in vain: Suns that set may rise again But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night. Why should we defer our joys? Fame and rumour are but toys.
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Follow a shadow, it still flies you, Seem to fly, it will pursue: So court a mistress, she denies you Let her alone, she will court you. Say are not women truly, then, Styled but the shadows of us men?
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Ambition, like a torrent, ne'er looks back And is a swelling, and the last affection A high mind can put off being both a rebel Unto the soul and reason, and enforceth All laws, all conscience, treads upon religion, and offereth violence to nature's self.
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