Go To Your Banquet Then,

Our Present Tears Here, Not Our Present Laughter Are But The Handsells Of Our Joys Hereafter.

Thus Times Do Shift, Each Thing His Turn Does Hold; New Things Succeed, As Former Things Grow Old.

Art Quickens Nature; Care Will Make A Face; Neglected Beauty Perisheth Apace.

When A Daffadill I See, Hanging Down His Head Towards Me, Guess I May, What I Must Be: First, I Shall Decline My Head; Secondly, I Shall Be Dead: Lastly, Safely Buryed.

A Sweet Disorder In The Dress Kindles In Clothes A Wantonness A Lawn About The Shoulders Thrown Into A Fine Distraction.