Honor, Thou Strong Idol Of Man's Mind.

Remember That In All Miseries Lamenting Becomes Fools, And Action, Wise Folk.

My True Love Hath My Heart, And I Have His

Ring Out Your Bells! Let Mourning Show Be Spread! For Love Is Dead.

The Heavens Do Not Send Good Haps In Handfuls; But Let Us Pick Out Our Good By Little, And With Care, From Out Much Bad, That Still Our Little World May Know Its King.

A Noble Heart, Like The Sun, Showeth Its Greatest Countenance In Its Lowest Estate.