The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good.

This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.

Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.

There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings.

Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.

Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.

Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar school.