I never did hold, all that glisters is Gold,
Unless by the Touch it be try’d;
Nor ever could find, that it was a true signe,
To judge a man by the outside.
A poor flash of wit, for a time may be fit
To wrangle a question in Schools.
Good dressing, fine cloathes, with other fine shews,
May serve to make painted fools.
That man will beguile, in your face that will smile,
And court you with Cap and with knee: