Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content; The quiet mind is richer than a crown. - Robert Greene

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee;
When thou art old there’s grief enough for thee.

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.

Ah! what is love? It is a pretty thing,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king;
And sweeter too,
For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown;
Ah then, ah then,
If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?