Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.

I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.

Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

I am falser than vows made in wine.

A flock of blessings light upon thy back

My brain more busy than the labouring spider Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.

She speaks poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her; she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam bad left him before he transgressed.