Quick Believers Need Broad Shoulders.

Hee That Is Throwne Would Ever Wrestle.

Listen, Sweet Dove, Unto My Song, And Spread Thy Golden Wings In Me; Hatching My Tender Heart So Long, Till It Get Wing, And Flie Away With Thee.

All The Armes Of England Will Not Arme Feare.

Presents Of Love Fear Not To Be Ill Taken Of Strangers.

When Thou Dost Tell Another's Jest, Therein Omit The Oaths, Which True Wit Cannot Need; Pick Out Of Tales The Mirth, But Not The Sin.