Fain would I kiss my Julia's dainty leg, Which is as white and hairless as an egg.

Things are evermore sincere; / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying: And this same flower that smiles to day, Tomorrow will be dying.

When a daffadill I see, Hanging down his head towards me, Guess I may, what I must be: First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead: Lastly, safely buryed.

T is the will that makes the action good or ill.

Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.

I do love I know not what; Sometimes this, and sometimes that.