"Her lips are roses over-wash'd with dew, Or like the purple of Narcissus' flower; No frost their fair, no wind doth waste their power, But by her breath her beauties do renew."

"Not Jove or Nature, should they both agree To make a woman of the firmament, Of his mix'd purity could not invent A sky-born form so beautiful as she."

"Her locks are plighted like the fleece of wool That Jason with his Grecian mates achiev'd; As pure as gold, yet not from gold deriv'd; As full of sweets as sweet of sweets is full."

"How oft have I descending Titan seen His burning locks couch in the sea-queen's lap, And beauteous Thetis his red body wrap In watery robes, as he her lord had been!"

"Like to Diana in her summer-weed, Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, Goes fair Samela; Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed When wash'd by Arethusa Fount they lie, Is fair Samela."

"As fair Aurora in her morning-grey, Deck'd with the ruddy glister of her love, Is fair Samela. Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day, Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move, Shines fair Samela."

"Hangs in th' uncertain balance of proud time."

"Thus fair Samela Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, And Juno in the show of majesty, For she's Samela; Pallas in wit, all three, if you well view. For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity, Yield to Samela."

"Her cheeks like ripen'd lilies steep'd in wine, Or fair pomegranate-kernels wash'd in milk, Or snow-white threads in nets of crimson silk, Or gorgeous clouds upon the sun's decline."

"Sovereign of beauty, like the spray she grows; Compass'd she is with thorns and canker'd bower. Yet, were she willing to be pluck'd and worn, She would be gather'd, though she grew on thorn."

"O glorious sun, imagine me the west, Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast!"

"Ah, were she pitiful as she is fair, Or but as mild as she is seeming so, Then were my hopes greater than my despair, Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe."

"Ah Franion, treason is loved of many, but the traitor hated of all: unjust offences may for a time escape without danger, but never without revenge."

"And yet Dorastus shame not at thy shepherd's weed: the heavenly gods have sometimes earthly thoughts: Neptune became a ram, Jupiter a bull, Apollo a shepherd: they gods, and yet in love; and thou a man appointed to love."

"Though men determine, the gods too dispose."

"Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there’s grief enough for thee. Mother's wag, pretty boy. Father's sorrow, father's joy; When thy father first did see Such a boy by him and me, He was glad, I was woe; Fortune changed made him so, When he left his pretty boy, Last his sorrow, first his joy."

"Oft times many things fall out between the cup and the lip."

"He look'd, he sigh'd, he courted with a kiss, No better could the silly swad than this."

"The wanton smil'd, father wept, Mother cried, baby lept; More he crow'd, more we cried, Nature could not sorrow hide: He must go, he must kiss Child and mother, baby bless, For he left his pretty boy, Father's sorrow, father's joy."

"Men when they lust can many fancies feign."

"Fair is my love, for April in her face, Her lovely breasts September claims his part, And lordly July in her eyes takes place But cold December dwelleth in her heart."

"The more the fox is curst, the better he fares."

"Love is a lock that linketh noble minds, Faith is the key that shuts the spring of love."

"Her stature like the tall straight cedar-trees Whose stately bulks do fame th' Arabian groves; A pace like princely Juno when she brav'd The Queen of Love 'fore Paris in the vale; A front beset with love and courtesy; A face like modest Pallas when she blush'd A seely shepherd should be beauty's judge; A lip sweet ruby-red, grac'd with delight; A cheek wherein for interchange of hue A wrangling strife 'twixt lily and the rose; Her eyes two twinckling stars in winter-nights When chilling frost doth clear the azur'd sky; Her hair of golden hue doth dim the beams That proud Apollo giveth from his coach. ... A foot like Thetis when she tripp'd the sands To steal Neptunus' favour with her steps; In fine, a piece, despite of beauty, fram'd To show what Nature's lineage could afford."

"Two moving hills Which, topp'd with pretty teats, discover down a vale Wherein the God of Love may deign to sleep."

"Fie upon such as say, "Young saints, old devils"! It is no doubt a devilish and damnable saying; for what is not bent in the cradle, will hardly be bowed in the saddle."

"At last he hath leaped at a daisy, with a halter about his neck."

"On women Nature did bestow two eyes, Like heaven's bright lamps, in matchless beauty shining, Whose beams do soonest captivate the wise, And wary heads, made rare by art's refining"

"Marry, because you have drank with the King, And the King hath so graciously pledg'd you, You shall no more be call'd shoemakers, But you and yours, to the world's end, Shall be call'd the Trade of the Gentle Craft."

"For as one star another far exceeds, So souls in heaven are placèd by their deeds."

"Time is...Time was...Time is past."

"He that will not when he may, When he desires shall surely purchase nay."

"O sir! I love the fruit that treason brings, But those that are the traitors, them I hate."

"My God commands, whose power no power resists."

"He kept no Christmas-house for once a year; Each day his boards were fill'd with lordly fare: He fed a rout of yeomen with his cheer, Nor was his bread and beef kept in with care: His wine and beer to strangers were not spare; And yet beside to all that hunger griev'd His gates were ope, and they were there reliev'd."

"Amends may never come too late."

"I sit beside my lonely fire And pray for wisdom yet: For calmness to remember Or courage to forget."

"Do you recall that night in June Upon the Danube River; We listened to the ländler-tune, We watched the moonbeams quiver."

"All hail, M. P.! from whose infernal brain Thin-sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train; At whose command "grim women" throng in crowds, And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds, With "small gray men," "wild yagers," and what not, To crown with honour thee and Walter Scott; Again all hail! if tales like thine may please, St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease; Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell, And in thy skull discern a deeper hell."

"He was a child, and a spoiled child, but a child of high imagination; and so he wasted himself on ghost-stories and German romances."

"Many of the narratives can only tend to excite ideas the worst calculated for a female breast: Every thing is called plainly and roundly by its name; and the annals of a Brothel would scarcely furnish a greater choice of indecent expressions. Yet this is the Book, which young Women are recommended to study."

"A Warrior so bold, and a Virgin so bright Conversed, as They sat on the green: They gazed on each other with tender delight; Alonzo the Brave was the name of the Knight, The Maid's was the Fair Imogine."

"Oh! hush these suspicions," Fair Imogine said, "Offensive to Love and to me! For if ye be living, or if ye be dead, I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead Shall Husband of Imogine be."

"An Author, whether good or bad, or between both, is an Animal whom every body is privileged to attack; For though All are not able to write Books, all conceive themselves able to judge them."

"The worms, They crept in, and the worms, They crept out, And sported his eyes and his temples about, While the Spectre addressed Imogine."

"Hark! hark! – What mean those yells – those cries? His chain some furious madman breaks! He comes! I see his glaring eyes! Now! now! my dungeon bars he shakes. Help! Help! He's gone! Oh! fearful woe, Such screams to hear – such sights to see! My brain! my brain! – I know, I know I am not mad, but soon shall be."

"Farewel, thou cruel world! – to morrow No more thy scorn my heart shall tear: – The grave will shield the child of sorrow, And heaven will hear the orphan's prayer."

"Another Cleland see in Lewis rise. Why sleep the ministers of truth and law? Has the state no controul, no decent awe, While each with each in madd'ning orgies vie Pandars to lust and licens'd blasphemy? Can senates hear without a kindred rage? Oh may a poet's lightning blast the page, Nor with the bolt of Nemesis in vain Supply the laws, that wake not to restrain!"

"Matthew Lewis [was] the genre's first punk, the Johnny Rotten of the Gothic novel."

"You know you haven't got a singing face."