No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd.

Foul jealousy! that turnest love divine to joyless dread, and makest the loving heart with hateful thoughts to languish and to pine.

All flesh doth frailty breed!

This iron world bungs down the stoutest hearts to lowest state; for misery doth bravest minds abate.

Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.

All for love, and nothing for reward.

A circle cannot fill a triangle, so neither can the whole world, if it were to be compassed, the heart of man; a man may as easily fill a chest with grace as the heart with gold. The air fills not the body, neither doth money the covetous mind of man.