All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!

The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.

Ingrateful man with liquorish draughts, and morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind that from it all consideration slips.

When devils will the blackest sins put on They do suggest at first with heavenly shows

And worse I may be yet: the worst is not So long as we can say 'This is the worst.

We go to gain a little patch of ground that hath in it no profit but the name.

Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.