Yet, Do Thy Worst, Old Time; Despite

Dead Shepherd, Now I Find Thy Saw Of Might. Whoever Lov'd That Lov'd Not At First Sight.

His Jest Will Savour But Of Shallow Wit, When Thousands Weep, More Than Did Laugh At It.

The Earth, That Is Nature's Mother, Is Her Tomb.

Alack, There Lies More Peril In Thine Eye Than Twenty Of Their Swords: Look Thou But Sweet, And I Am Proof Against Their Enmity.

I Once Did Hold It, As Our Statists Do, A Baseness To Write Fair, And Labour'd Much How To Forget That Learning; But, Sir, Now It Did Me Yeoman's Service.