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Your Will doth finde that if a man speakes false, his storehouse of lies oft be filled from cellar to rooftop.

Sonnet 42

Here, sweete Goundlynges, thou mayest read mine sonnet 42, wherein I do mourn the pain of the scorned lover whose love and friend both hath betrayed him.

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When reason fails, mine Groundlynges, betimes a man might consider the "layinge of the handes."

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Wait say thee, ladies? Does the blood of man run cold once he hath wed?

Will's sonnet 41

Groundynges, hastow ever seen thy love challeng'd by a friend rather than foe? O, how such treacherie doth wound the verie soul of man!