Whatever comes, let's be content withal: Among God's blessings there is no one small.
Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say; But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.
In things a moderation keep; Kings ought to shear, not skin, their sheep.
Who covets more is evermore a slave.
Fain would I kiss my Julia's dainty leg, Which is as white and hairless as an egg.
Tears are the noble language of eyes, and when true love of words is destitute. The eye by tears speak, while the tongue is mute.