He that has a house to put's head in has a good head-piece.

Liberty plucks justice by the nose; The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum.

Desire of having is the sin of covetousness.

Should the poor be flattered? No; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, and crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning.

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.

There is a willow grows aslant a brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; There with fantastic garlands did she come Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook.

Then to Silvia let us sing that Silvia is excelling. She excels each mortal thing upon the dull earth dwelling.