To virgin minds, which yet their native whiteness hold

Lukewarmness I account a sin As great in love as in religion.

Who lets slip Fortune, her shall never find, Occasion once passed by, is bald behind.

The world's a scene of changes, and to be Constant, in Nature were inconstancy.

Love in her sunny eyes does basking play; Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair; Love does on both her lips for ever stray; And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there. In all her outward parts Love's always seen; But, oh, he never went …

Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.

Well then; I now do plainly see This busy world and I shall ne'er agree; The very honey of all earthly joy Does of all meats the soonest cloy, And they (methinks) deserve my pity, Who for it can endure the stings,