To the Virgins, To Make much of Time Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he’s a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he is to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while you may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.

Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.

Humble we must be, if to heaven we go; High is the roof there, but the gate is low.

What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.

Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.

Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.

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