Over hill, over dale,Thorough bush, thorough brier,Over park, over pale,Thorough flood, thorough fire,I do wander everywhere.
Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such, Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough.
These high wild hills and rough uneven waysDraw out our miles and make them wearisome;But yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
It is the mind that makes the body rich; and as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, so honor peereth in the meanest habit.
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.
If love be rough with you, be rough with love;Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.