The oldest hath borne most: we that are young,Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still;My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.

Merrily, merrily shall I live now,Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

We are gentlemen that neither in our hearts nor outward eyes envy the great nor shall the low despise.

Not marble, nor the gilded monumentsOf princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme.

Good wombs have borne bad sons.