Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!
Every thing that grows / Holds in perfection but a little moment.
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am nor what I do.
What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.
What's brave, what's noble, let's do it after the Roman fashion.