You may my Glories and my State depose, But not my Griefes; still am I King of those.

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I In the cow-slip's bell i lie There I couch when owls do cry

He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion.

Let me confess that we two must be twain, although our undivided loves are one.

Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.

Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum! Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, revel the night, rob, murder, and commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways?