Whatever comes, let’s be content withal; Among God’s blessings there is not one small.

For pitty, Sir, find out that Bee Which bore my Love away I’le seek him in your Bonnet brave, I’le seek him in your eyes.

The readiness of doing doth expresse No other but the doer’s willingnesse.

Roses at first were white, Till thy co’d not agree, Whether my Sapho’s breast, Or they more white sho’d be.

Let’s live with that small pittance which we have; Who covets more is evermore a slave.

My soul I’ll pour into thee.

I’ll write, because I’ll give – You critics means to live; For should I not supply – The cause, the effect would die.

Tis not the food, but the content, That makes the table’s merriment.

Know when to speak – for many times it brings danger, to give the best advice to kings.

What though the sea be calm? trust to the shore, Ships have been drown’d, where late they danc’d before.