I grieve and dare not show my discontent, I love and yet am forced to seem to hate, I do, yet dare not say I ever meant, I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate. I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned, Since from myself another self I turned. My care is like my shadow in the sun, Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it, Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.

There is an Italian proverb which saith, From my enemy let me defend myself; but from a pretensed friend Lord deliver me

Chastity is the ermine of woman's soul.

I cannot find it in me to fear a man who took ten years a learning of his alphabet.

Hang Irish harpers wherever found.

If I follow the inclination of my nature, it is this: beggar-woman and single, far rather than queen and married.

O Fortune, how thy restless, wavering state has fraught with cares my troubled wit!