“O momentary grace of mortal men,Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!Who builds his hopes in air of your good looks,Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,Ready, with every nod, to tumble downInto the fatal bowels of the deep.”

“He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear:And you all know, securityIs mortals' chiefest enemy.”

“I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.”

“O, but they say, the tongues of dying men enforce attention, like deep harmony: where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain: for they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. he, that no more must say, is listened more than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze; more are men's ends marked, than their lives before: the setting sun, and music at the close, as the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; writ in rememberance more than things long past”

“We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us;His present and your pains we thank you for:When we have match'd our rackets to these balls,We will, in France, by God's grace, play a setShall strike his father's crown into the hazard. King Henry, scene ii”

“Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace,Yet Grace must still look so.”

“O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!”