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MARGARET FALCONBRIDGE. Now is your turn, my dearest, to be set A gem in this eternal coronet: 'Twas rich before, but since your name is down It sparkles now like Ariadne's crown. Blaze by this sphere for ever: or this do, Let me and it shine evermore by you.


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Sweet Oenone, do but say Love thou dost, though love says nay. Speak me fair; for lovers be Gently kill'd by flattery.


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Who will not honour noble numbers, when Verses out-live the bravest deeds of men?


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That happiness does still the longest thrive, Where joys and griefs have turns alternative.


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We pray 'gainst war, yet we enjoy no peace; Desire deferr'd is that it may increase.