His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.

Let life be short, else shame will be too long.

Give to a gracious message An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell Themselves when they be felt.

The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.

There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.

One man in his time plays many parts.

Women may fail when there is no strength in man