I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.

In time we hate that which we often fear.

Gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gain'd my freedom.

Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.

Use every man according to his desert and who should 'scape whipping? Use them after your own honor and dignity, the less they deserve ... the more merit in your bounty.

Let still woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart, For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner to be lost and warn, Than women's are.

Wish chastely, and love dearly.