I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff, sixpenny strikers, none of these mad, mustachio purple-hued maltworms, but with nobility and tranquillity.

All things are ready, if our mind be so.

I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say - I love you

To pore upon a book, to seek the light of truth.

Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?

In springtime, the only pretty ring time Birds sing, hey ding A-ding, a-ding Sweet lovers love the spring—

What is aught but as 'tis valued?