There is continual spring, and harvest there Continual, both meeting at one time: For both the boughs do laughing blossoms bear, And with fresh colours deck the wanton prime, And eke attonce the heavy trees they climb, Which seem to labour under their fruits load: The whiles the joyous birds make their pastime Amongst the shady leaves, their sweet above, And their true loves without suspicion tell abroad.

The poets scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives; all else is claimed by death.

For easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.

Nothing under heaven so strongly doth allure the sense of man, and all his mind possess, as beauty's love.

And painefull pleasure turnes to pleasing paine.

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

Greatest god below the sky.