Immortal Spenser, no frailty hath thy fame but the imputation of this idiot's friendship!

Immortal Spenser, no frailty hath thy fame but the imputation of this idiot's friendship!

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king

From winter, plague and pestilence, good lord, deliver us!

New herrings, new!' we must cry, every time we make ourselves public, or else we shall be christened with a hundred new titles of idiotism.

Fair summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore: So fair a summer look for never more. All good things vanish, less than in a day, Peace, plenty, pleasure, suddenly decay. Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year; The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.

Shape your coat according to your cloth.