Men, when their actions succeed not as they would, are always ready to impute the blame thereof to heaven, so as to excuse their own follies.
Rising glory occasions the greatest envy, as kindling fire the greatest smoke.
Ah, fool! faint heart fair lady ne'er could win.
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.
One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washèd it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.