Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.
Give, if thou can, an alms; if not, a sweet and gentle word.
None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.
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.