Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke.
Underneath this sable hearse
Lies the subject of all verse,
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.
Death! ere thou hast slain another,
Learned and fair and good as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee.
To the Memory of Shakespeare.
Soul of the age!
The applause! delight! the wonder of our stage!
My Shakespeare rise.
Small Latin, and less Greek.
He was not of an age, but for all time.
Sweet swan of Avon!
Every Man in his Humor. Act. ii. Sc. 3.
Get money; still get money, boy;
No matter by what means.