What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.

False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

Though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft let by the nose with gold.

All dark and comfortless.

As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.

Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.