Greatest scandal waits on greatest state.

This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.

Golden lads and girls all must as chimney sweepers come to dust.

What my tongue dares not that my heart shall say

Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir. My daughter he hath wedded. I will die, And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death’s.

Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.

The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream And greedily devour the treacherous bait.