"Bi a mounte on þe morne meryly he rydes Into a forest ful dep, þat ferly watz wylde, Hiȝe hillez on vche a halue, and holtwodez vnder Of hore okez ful hoge a hundreth togeder; Þe hasel and þe haȝþorne were harled al samen, With roȝe raged mosse rayled aywhere, With mony bryddez vnblyþe vpon bare twyges, Þat pitosly þer piped for pyne of þe colde."

"Bot of alle þat here bult, of Bretaygne kynges, Ay watz Arthur þe hendest, as I haf herde telle."

"And also an oþer maner meued him eke, Þat he þurȝ nobelay had nomen he wolde neuer ete Upon such a dere day er hym deuised were Of sum auenturus þyng an vncouþe tale Of sum mayn meruayle þat he myȝt trawe Of of alderes of armes of oþer auenturus."

"Wheþer hade he no helme ne hawbergh nauþer, Ne no pysan ne no plate þat pented to armes, Ne no schafte ne no schelde to schwue ne to smyte, Bot in his on honde he hade a holyn bobbe, Þat is grattest in grene when greuez ar bare, And an ax in his oþer, a hoge and vnmete, A spetos sparþe to expoun in spelle, quoso myȝt. Þe lenkþe of an elnȝerde þe large hede hade."

"SIÞEN þe sege and þe assaut watz sesed at Troye, Þe borȝ brittened and brent to brondeȝ and askez,"

"Luf lokez to luf & his leue takez, For to ende alle at onez & for euer twynne. By forty dayez wern faren, on folde no flesch styryed."

"Hit waltered on þe wylde flod, went as hit lyste, Drof vpon þe depe dam, in daunger hit semed, Withouten mast, oþer myke, oþer myry bawelyne, Kable, oþer capstan to clyppe to her ankrez, Hurrok, oþer hande-helme hasped on roþer, Oþer any sweande sayl to seche after hauen."

"For when þat þe Helle herde þe houndez of heuen, He watz ferlyly fayn, vnfolded bylyue; Þe grete barrez of þe abyme he barst vp at onez, Þat alle þe regioun torof in riftes ful grete, & clouen alle in lyttel cloutes þe clyffez aywhere, As lauce leuez of þe boke þat lepes in twynne."

"What is þis arthures hous quoþ þe haþel þenne Þat al þe rous rennes of þurȝ ryalmes so mony Where is now your sourquydrye and your conquestes Your gry dellayk and your greme and your grete wordes Now is þe reuel and þe renoun of þe rounde table Ouerwalt wyth a worde of on wyȝes speche For al dares for drede withoute dynt schewed"

"The dubbement dere of doun and daleȝ, Of wod and water and wlonk playneȝ, Bylde in me blys, abated my baleȝ, Fordidden my stresse, dystryed my payneȝ. Doun after a strem þat dryȝly haleȝ I bowed in blys, bredful my brayneȝ; Þe fyrre I folȝed þose floty valeȝ, Þe more strenghþe of ioye myn herte strayneȝ."

"Moteleȝ may so meke and mylde", Þen sayde I to þat lufly flor, "Bryng me to þat bygly bylde And let me se þy blysful bor." Þat schene sayde: "Þat God wyl schylde; Þou may not enter wythinne hys tor."

"After crystenmasse com þe crabbed lentoun Þat fraystez flesch wyth þe fysche and fode more symple. Bot þenne þe weder of þe worlde wyth wynter hit þrepez, Colde clengez adoun, cloudez vplyften, Schyre schedez þe rayn in schowrez ful warme, Fallez vpon fayre flat, flowrez þere schewen, Boþe groundez and þe greuez grene ar her wedez, Bryddez busken to bylde, and bremlych syngen For solace of þe softe somer þat sues þerafter Bi bonk."

"Allas! I leste hyr in on erbere; Þurȝ gresse to grounde hit fro me yot. I dewyne, fordolked of luf-daungere Of þat pryuy perle wythouten spot."

"Dubbed wern alle þo downeȝ sydeȝ Wyth crystal klyffeȝ so cler of kynde. Holtewodeȝ bryȝt aboute hem bydeȝ Of bolleȝ as blwe as ble of Ynde; As bornyst syluer þe lef on slydeȝ, Þat þike con trylle on vch a tynde. Quen glem of glodeȝ agaynȝ hem glydeȝ, Wyth schymeryng schene ful schrylle þay schynde."

"In þe founce þer stonden stoneȝ stepe, As glente þurȝ glas þat glowed and glyȝt, As stremande sterneȝ, quen stroþe-men slepe, Staren in welkyn in wynter nyȝt."

"'T was good advice, and meant, my son, Be good."

"Secrets with girls, like loaded guns with boys, Are never valued till they make a noise."

"He tried the luxury of doing good."

"But 'twas a maxim he had often tried, That right was right, and there he would abide."

"Who calls a lawyer rogue, may find, too late Upon one of these depends his whole estate."

"Cut and come again."

"To sigh, yet not recede; to grieve, yet not repent."

"Better to love amiss than nothing to have loved."

"Habit with him was all the test of truth, It must be right: I’ve done it from my youth."

"In this fool's paradise he drank delight."

"The mind here exhibited is one untouched by pity, unstung by remorse, and uncorrected by shame; yet is this hardihood of temper and spirit broken by want, disease, solitude, and disappointment, and he becomes the victim of a distempered and horror-stricken fancy."

"Books cannot always please, however good; Minds are not ever craving for their food."

"Oh, rather give me commentators plain, Who with no deep researches vex the brain; Who from the dark and doubtful love to run, And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun."

"And took for truth the test of ridicule."

"Her air, her manners, all who saw admir'd; Courteous though coy, and gentle though retir'd; The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd, And ease of heart her every look convey'd."

"In idle wishes fools supinely stay; Be there a will, and wisdom finds a way."

"Where Plenty smiles - alas! she smiles for few, And those who taste not, yet behold her store, Are as the slaves that dig the golden ore, The wealth around them makes them doubly poor."

"The murmuring poor, who will not fast in peace."

"A master passion is the love of news."

"Our farmers round, well pleased with constant gain, Like other farmers, flourish and complain."

"Time has touched me gently in his race, And left no odious furrows in my face."

"Once the poet has set himself the task of writing an amorous complaint, that deep melancholy which lay beneath the surface glamor of Elizabethan existence and which was so characteristic of Sidney himself, begins to fill the conventional form with a more than conventional weight. It surges through the magical adagio of the lines; they have that depth of reverberation, like the sound of gongs beaten under water, which is sometimes characteristic of Sidney as of no other Elizabethan, not even Shakespeare."

"Sidney, as he fought And as he fell and as he lived and loved Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot."

"Sidney's force of patriotism and religious fervour were accompanied by much political sagacity, by high poetic and oratorical gifts, and by unusual skill in manly sports. Such versatility, allied to a naturally chivalric, if somewhat impetuous, temperament, generated a rare personal fascination, the full force of which was brought home to his many friends by his pathetic death, from a wound received in battle, at the early age of thirty-two. His achievements, when viewed in detail, may hardly seem to justify all the eulogies in verse and prose which his contemporaries bestowed upon his brief career; but the impression that it left in its entirety on his countrymen's imagination proved ineffaceable."

"Yf he had lived, I dowbt not but he would have bine a comfort to us both, and an ornament to his howse. What perfection he was growen unto, and how able to serve her majestie and his countrey, all men here almost wondred at."

"Gentle Sir Philip Sidney, thou knewest what belonged to a scholar; thou knewest what pains, what toil, what travail conduct to perfection. Well couldst thou give every virtue his encouragement, every art his due, every writer his desert, cause none more virtuous, witty, or learned than thyself. But thou art dead in thy grave, and hast left too few successors of thy glory, too few to cherish the sons of the muses, or water those budding hopes with their plenty, which thy bounty erst planted."

"The poet...nothing affirmeth, and therefore never lieth."

"This is that Sidney, whom, as Gods will was he should be therefore home into the world, even to shew unto our age a sample of ancient vertues: so his good pleasure was before any man looked for it to call for him againe, and take him out of the world as beeing more worthy of heaven then earth."

"Hard-hearted minds relent and rigor's tears abound, And envy strangely rues his end, in whom no fault was found. Knowledge her light hath lost, valor hath slain her knight, Sidney is dead, dead is my friend, dead is the world's delight."

"Poetry, a speaking picture... to teach and delight"

"Certainly, I must confess my own barbarousness, I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet."

"In the sweetly constituted mind of Sir Philip Sidney, it seems as if no ugly thought or unhandsome meditation could find a harbour. He turned all that he touched into images of honour and virtue."

"That sweet enemy, France."

"Stella, think not that I by verse seek fame, Who seek, who hope, who love, who live but thee; Thine eyes my pride, thy lips mine history: If thou praise not, all other praise is shame."

"Sweet food of sweetly uttered knowledge."