Love is a secret which cannot be revealed,
But by two hundred curtains it cannot be concealed.

When you so well agree in life,
The vilest husband, vilest wife,
'T is strange that you should live in strife.

Thieves may break locks and with your cash retire,
Your ancient seat may be consumed with fire,
Debtors refuse to pay you what they owe,
A barren field destroy the seed you sow;
You may be plundered of the girl you prize,
Your ships may sink with all their merchandise;
But he who gives — so much from Fate secures —
That is the only wealth forever yours.

When Fannius from his foe did fly,
Himself with his own hands he slew;
Whoe'er a greater madness knew?
Life to destroy for fear to die.

I've bin to Plymouth, and I've bin to Doover,
I've bin ramblin, boys, all de wurld oover,
Over, and over, and over, and oover,
Drink up your liquor and turn yur cup over.
Over and over, and over, and oover.
De liquor's drink't up, and de cup is turned oover.

That mind is soonest caught which springs with mirth:
Like corne which riots on the lusty earth.
The heart, that 's free from sorrow, open lies
To Venus arts, and flattering loues surprise.
Sad Ilium repell'd the Graecian force:
But full of ioy, receau'd the fatall horse.

I wouldn't sell my noble thirst
For half a dozen bags of gold;
I'd like to drink until I burst.
I wouldn't sell my noble thirst
For lucre filthy and accurst —
Such treasures can't be bought and sold!
I wouldn't sell my noble thirst
For half a dozen bags of gold.

Kiss me, Cloris, let me taste to the full your delicate beauty and your many graces, and in this pleasant mead let wandering senses feed at will upon your charms.
Let my mind, languid and trembling, be satiate in your soft nectarous breasts, and with our deeds let us scorn those that would restrain amorous lovers.
I would not make the art of love philosophy, because the little Love-god is not wont to plunge deep in learned books.
Let sight give way to touch, the eye to the lip; let seeing and gazing go aside, since the blind god does not gaze but touches.

" Have patience; patience will perform thy work
Quickly and well, " to me a comrade said;
" The water to the river will return;
Thine aims shall speed as never they have sped. "
I said: " Suppose the water does return,
What boots it, if the fish meanwhile be dead? "

When night spreads out her mighty wings above the earth and all is wrapped in shadow, the Soul, to hide its mortal husk, escapes from it and returns where it is wont.
Thus naked, invisible, immortal, straightway it turns to its yearned-for resting-place; there at once attacks its lovely foe whose limbs are sunk in gentle sleep.
And while it waits and gazes little by little down from her golden head to her ivory feet, it trembles with the wonder and the sweetness.