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

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

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.

So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade; All love, all liking, all delight Lies drowned with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying; Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.

But ne'er the rose without the thorn.

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

Men are suspicious; prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.