There are a sort of men whose visagesDo cream and mantle like a standing pond.

I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.

Men should be what they seem.

Well could I curse away a winter's night,Though standing naked on a mountain top,Where biting cold would never let grass grow,And think it but a minute spent in sport.

Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.

Base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them