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Be not with honor's gilded baits beguil'd, Nor think ambition wise, because 'tis brave For though we like it, as a forward child, 'Tis so unsound, her cradle is the grave.

William Davenant

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William Davenant
Age: 62 †
Born: 1606
Born: February 1
Died: 1668
Died: April 7
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Wise
Bait
Child
Cradle
Though
Grave
Children
Graves
Think
Brave
Thinking
Ambition
Baits
Like
Forward
Unsound
Honor
Gilded

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The assembled souls of all that men held wise.
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Go! dive into the Southern Sea, and when Th'ast found, to trouble the nice sight of men, A swelling pearl, and such whose single worth Boasts all the wonders which the seas bring forth, Give it Endymion's love, whose ev'ry tear Would more enrich the skilful jeweller.
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Had laws not been, we never had been blam'd For not to know we sinn'd is innocence.
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What one cannot, another can.
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To be rich be diligent move on Like heav'ns great movers that enrich the earth Whose moment's sloth would show the world undone And make the spring straight bury all her birth. Rich are the diligent who can command Time--nature's stock.
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Calamity is the perfect glass wherein we truly see and know ourselves.
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All slander must still be strangled in its birth, or time will soon conspire to make it strong enough to overcome the truth.
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Generous souls Are still most subject to credulity.
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Small are the seeds fate does unheeded sow Of slight beginnings to important ends.
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Faith lights us through the dark to Deity.
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Since knowledge is but sorrow's spy, It is not safe to know.
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Actions rare and sudden do commonly proceed from fierce necessity, of else from some oblique design, which is ashamed to show itself in the public road.
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Anger is blood, poured and perplexed into froth but malice is the wisdom of our wrath.
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It is the wit and policy of sin to hate those we have abused.
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O harmless Death! whom still the valiant brave, The wise expect, the sorrowful invite, And all the good embrace, who know the grave A short dark passage to eternal light.
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All jealousy must be strangled in its birth.
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Ambition is the mind's immodesty.
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Fame, like the river, is narrowest where it is bred, and broadest afar off.
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Honor is the moral conscience of the great.
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