Tears are the noble language of the eye.

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.

Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.

He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.

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

Know when to speak - for many times it brings danger, to give the best advice to kings.

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