Enjoyment always has a spoiling, otherwise it cannot be so.

Our faults are not seen, But past us; neither felt, but only in The punishment.

If poisonous minerals, and if that tree, Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damned; alas; why should I be?

Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy, or charms, can make us sleep as well, And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?

This only is charity, to do all, all that we can.

Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.