But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
If we had not winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.
My age I will not once lament, / But sing, my time so near is spent.
If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man, compare with me, ye women if you can.
I am obnoxious to each carping tongue who says my hand a needle better fits.