Look on beauty, and you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight.

When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes.

Best men oft are moulded out of faults.

A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm

Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this that you call love to bea sect or scion.... It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will.

Come away, come away, Death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it! My part of death no one so true did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strewn: Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where Sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there!