One sees more devils than vast hell can hold

What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!

Under the colour of commending him I have access my own love to prefer; But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.

We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels.

Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.

When griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind opresses, then music, with her silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.

More can I bear than you dare execute.