But see! theVirgin blessed Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending.

Nor aught availed him now to have built in heaven high towers; nor did he scrape by all his engines, but was headlong sent with his industrious crew to build in hell.

Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades High over-arch'd imbower.

Ornate rhetorick taught out of the rule of Plato.... To which poetry would be made subsequent, or indeed rather precedent, as being less suttle and fine, but more simple, sensuous, and passionate.

Time is the subtle thief of youth.

Just deeds are the best answer to injurious words.

Seas wept from our deep sorrows.