Upon his royal face there is no note how dread an army hath enrounded him.

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.

Make the upcoming hour overflow with joy, and let pleasure drown the brim.

The course of true love never did run smooth.

What power is it which mounts my love so high, that makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye

When thou cam'st first, Thou strok'st me and made much of me; wouldst give me Water with berries in't; and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night; and then I loved thee And showed thee all the qualities o' th' isle, The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile.

Help, master, help! here's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill hardly come out.