How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!

But to my mind, though I am native here, And to the manner born, it is a custom, More honored in the breach than the observance.

And it is very much lamented,... That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye That you might see your shadow.

They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.

Away, you mouldy rogue, away!

If [God] send me no husband, for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening.

For it falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth Whiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us While it was ours.