Ay, Much Is The Force Of Heaven-bred

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.

Delay Leads Impotent And Snail-paced Beggary.

There's No Trust, No Faith, No Honesty In Men; All Perjured, All Forsworn, All Naught, All Dissemblers.

Ruin Has Taught Me To Ruminate, That Time Will Come And Take My Love Away. This Thought Is As A Death, Which Cannot Choose But Weep To Have That Which It Fears To Lose.

Virtue's Office Never Breaks Men's Troth.