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.

My soul I'll pour into thee.

Roses at first were white, Till thy co'd not agree, Whether my Sapho's breast, Or they more white sho'd be.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun.

Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score; Then to that twenty, add a hundred more: A thousand to that hundred: so kiss on, To make that thousand up a million. Treble that million, and when that is done, Let's kiss afresh, as when we first begun.

Whatever comes, let's be content withal: Among God's blessings there is no one small.

Humble we must be, if to heaven we go; High is the roof there, but the gate is low.