'Tis pride that pulls the country down.
Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.
Love laughs at locksmiths.
By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that no woman has, nor never none Shall mistress be of it save I alone.
Journeys end in lovers meeting.
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?