I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, My gay apparel for an almsman's gown, My figured goblets for a dish of wood, My scepter for a palmer's walking staff My subjects for a pair of carved saints and my large kingdom for a little grave.

Where souls do couch on flowers we'll hand in hand.

Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!

Well could he ride, and often men would say, "That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!" And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.

'Tis pride that pulls the country down.

They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.

Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.