Wherever sorrow is, relief would be. If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love your sorrow and my grief Were both extermined.
Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird’s throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither! Here shall he see no enemy But winter and rough weather.
Sweet are the uses of adversity; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.
Men are April when they woo, December when they wed; maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.