“O but," quoth she, "great griefe will not be tould, And can more easily be thought, then said." "Right so"; quoth he, "but he, that never would, Could never: will to might gives greatest aid." "But grief," quoth she, "does great grow displaid, If then it find not helpe, and breedes despaire." "Despaire breedes not," quoth he, "where faith is staid." "No faith so fast," quoth she, "but flesh does paire.""Flesh may empaire," quoth he, "but reason can repaire.”

“Ted, I swear to God, quothe he.”

“His Lady sad to see his sore constraint, Cried out, "Now now Sir knight, shew what ye bee, Add faith unto your force, and be not faint: Strangle her, else she sure will strangle thee." That when he heard, in great perplexitie, His gall did grate for griefe and high distaine, And knitting all his force got one hand free, Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great paine,That soone to loose her wicked bands did her constraine.”

“Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.”

“Quoth the doorbell with its silence, no comment at this time.”

“He oft finds med'cine, who his griefe imparts; But double griefs afflict concealing harts, As raging flames who striveth to supresse.”

“What will you have? quoth God; pay for it, and take it.”