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

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

Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.

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

Thyself shall see the act; For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.

My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.

We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.