Travelers must be content.

If there is a good will, there is great way.

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies not plenty; Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't

Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.

It is not, nor it cannot, come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

I do know when the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows.