His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; his love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; his tears pure messengers sent from his heart; his heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth

Make not your thoughts your prisons.

Shall remain! Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you His absolute 'shall'?

Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age.

To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.

Oh, how this spring of love resembleth, The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all beauty of the Sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away

Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.