Conversation should be pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, free without indecency, learned without conceitedness, novel without falsehood.

See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. O, that I were a glove upon that hand That I might touch that cheek!

To sue to live, I find I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.

Though it be honest, it is never good to bring bad news.

Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.

They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.

Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.