So much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by example than by rule.

Gold all is not that doth golden seem.

Ah when will this long weary day have end, And lend me leave to come unto my love? How slowly do the hours their numbers spend! How slowly does sad Time his feathers move!

One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washèd it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.

All love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.

In one consort there sat cruel revenge and rancorous despite, disloyal treason and heart-burning hate.

The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.