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.

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

Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.

A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.

Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.

Give, if thou can, an alms; if not, a sweet and gentle word.

Seldom comes Glory till a man be dead.