Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.
Who with a little cannot be content, endures an everlasting punishment.
Who covets more is evermore a slave.
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.
Love is a circle that doth restless move in the same sweet eternity of love.
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.