Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.

Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun, and with him rise weeping.

He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.

Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure.

We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.

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

Beauty's a doubtful good, a glass, a flower, Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour; And beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.