Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.
Gather therefore the Rose, whilst yet is prime, For soon comes age, that will her pride deflower: Gather the Rose of love, whilst yet is time.
Gold all is not that doth golden seem.
The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.
In one consort there sat cruel revenge and rancorous despite, disloyal treason and heart-burning hate.