Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.

Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? - Epithalamion

Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.

For deeds to die, however nobly done, And thoughts of men to as themselves decay, But wise words taught in numbers for to run, Recorded by the Muses, live for ay.

Fresh spring the herald of love's mighty king.

Woe to the man that first did teach the cursed steel to bite in his own flesh, and make way to the living spirit!

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