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.

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.

Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference known; Kings seek their subjects' good: tyrants their own.

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

In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.

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

A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.