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.

Gold all is not that doth golden seem.

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

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

Fly from wrath; sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war; a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.

All flesh doth frailty breed!

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