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.

The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.

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

It often falls, in course of common life, that right long time is overborne of wrong.

And painefull pleasure turnes to pleasing paine.

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

All flesh doth frailty breed!