John Lyly

"The foule Toade hath a faire stone in his head."

"A new broom sweeps clean."

"How at heaven's gates she claps her wings, The morne not waking til she sings."

"There can no great smoke arise, but there must be some fire."

"A clere conscience is a sure carde."

"As lyke as one pease is to another."

"Be valyaunt, but not too venturous. Let thy attyre bee comely, but not costly."

"Though the Camomill, the more it is trodden and pressed downe the more it spreadeth."

"The finest edge is made with the blunt whetstone."

"I cast before the Moone."

"It seems to me (said she) that you are in some brown study."

"The soft droppes of rain perce the hard marble; many strokes overthrow the tallest oaks."

"He reckoneth without his Hostesse. Love knoweth no lawes."

"That honourable estate of Matrimony, which was sanctified in Paradise, allowed of the Patriarches, hallowed of the olde Prophets, and commended of al persons."

"Did not Jupiter transforme himselfe into the shape of Amphitrio to embrace Alcmæna; into the form of a swan to enjoy Leda; into a Bull to beguile Io; into a showre of gold to win Danae?"

"Fish and guests in three days are stale."

"I mean not to run with the Hare and holde with the Hounde."

"Rather fast then surfette, rather starue then striue to exceede."

"Is it not true which Seneca reporteth, that as too much bending breaketh the bowe, so too much remission spoyleth the minde?"

"It is a world to see."

"Goe to bed with the Lambe, and rise with the Larke."

"A comely olde man as busie as a bee."

"Maydens, be they never so foolyshe, yet beeing fayre they are commonly fortunate."

"Where the streame runneth smoothest, the water is deepest."

"Your eyes are so sharpe that you cannot onely looke through a Milstone, but cleane through the minde."

"Fishe and gesse in three dayes are stale."

"I am glad that my Adonis hath a sweete tooth in his head."

"For experience teacheth me that straight trees have crooked roots."

"A Rose is sweeter in the budde than full blowne."

"Lette me stande to the maine chance."

"Cupid and my Campaspe play'd At cards for kisses—Cupid paid: He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lips, the rose Growing one's cheek (but none knows how); With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin: All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes— She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this for thee? What shall, alas! become of me?"