The joy of love is too short, and the sorrow thereof, and what cometh thereof, dureth over long.

What, nephew, said the king, is the wind in that door?

The month of May was come, when every lusty heart beginneth to blossom, and to bring forth fruit; for like as herbs and trees bring forth fruit and flourish in…

Always Sir Arthur lost so much blood that it was a marvel he stood on his feet, but he was so full of knighthood that knightly he endured the pain.