The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike
Excess of wealth is cause of covetousness.
Fools that will laugh on earth, most weep in hell.
Love me little, love me long.
Virtue is the fount whence honour springs.
Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields.