Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.

My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am nor what I do.

One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.

Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?

There is a world elsewhere.

For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.

Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.