Francis Beaumont (/ˈboʊmɒnt/ BOH-mont; 1584 – 6 March 1616) was a dramatist in the English Renaissance theatre, most famous for his collaborations with John Fletcher. (wikipedia)
Nose, nose, jolly red nose, / And who gave thee this jolly red nose? . . . / Nutmegs and ginger, cinnamon and cloves, / And they gave me this jolly red nose.
Who doubting tyranny, and fainting under Fortune's false lottery, desperately run To death, for dread of death; that soul's most stout, That, bearing all mischance, dares last it out.
Honor's a thing too subtle for wisdom; if honor lie in eating, he's right honorable.
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true, Primrose, first born child of Ver, Merry Spring-time's harbinger.
The true way to gain much, is never to desire to gain too much. He is not rich that possesses much, but he that covets no more; and he is not poor that enjoys little, but he that wants too much.
If men wound you with injuries, meet them with patience; hasty words rankle the wound, soft language dresses it, forgiveness cures it, and oblivion takes away the scar. It is more noble by silence to avoid an injury than by argument to overcome it.
The greatest attribute of Heaven is mercy.
Let us have a care not to disclose our hearts to those who shut up theirs against us.
But what is past my help is past my care.
Bad's the best of us.