Things are evermore sincere; / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.
Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.
None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
Whatever comes, let's be content withal: Among God's blessings there is no one small.
Tears are the noble language of the eye.
Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.