The poorest service is repaid with thanks.

Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.

It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, "Thus diddest thou;"

Thy friendship makes us fresh.

If [God] send me no husband, for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening.

My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

My friends were poor, but honest, so's my love.