All transitory titles I detest; a virtuous life I mean to boast alone. Our birth's our sires'; our virtues be our own.

Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part.

Better sit still, than rise to meet the devil.

When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And innocence is closing up his eyes, Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over, From death to life, thou might'st him yet recover

The Falcon and the Dove sit there together, And th 'one of them doth prune the others feather.

When Time shall turne those Amber Lockes to Gray.

Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part; Nay, I have done, you get no more of me, And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart That thus so cleanly I myself can free; Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain.