A rarer spirit neverDid steer humanity; but you, gods, will give usSome faults to make us men.

They say, best men are molded out of faults; And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad

For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.

The rarer action isIn virtue than in vengeance.

Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth, But, being moody, give him time and scope, Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, Confound themselves with working.

They were all like one another as halfpence are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it.