To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings/Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun/For my mean Pen are too superior things.

Sweet words are like honey, a little may refresh, but too much gluts the stomach.

That when we live no more, We may live ever

I wish my Sun may never set, but burn.

Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.

Some laborers have hard hands, and old sinners have brawny consciences.

If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.