Fear no more the heat o' th' sun Nor the furious winters' rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee.

I am a foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.

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.

You speak an infinite deal of nothing.

Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return to plague the inventor.

For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase.