Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using.

The stars that have most glory have no rest.

Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using.

The wise are above books.

Flattery, the dangerous nurse of vice.

Striving to tell his woes, words would not come; For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb.

Custom, that is before all law; Nature, that is above all art.