In jalousie I rede eek thou hym bynde And thou shalt make him couche as doeth a quaille.

Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails, but he has not so much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, the primitive statue and oblique memorial of cockolds; a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg, to what form but that he is should wit larded with malice and malice forced with wit turn him to? To an ass, were nothing; he is both ass and ox: to an ox, were nothing; he is both ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without roe, I would not care; but to be Memelaus! I would conspire against destiny.

The song-birds leave us at the summer's close, Only the empty nests are left behind, And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.

Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.

Time and tide wait for no man.

And she was fair as is the rose in May.