Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so. For, those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow. Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

The rich have no more of the kingdom of heaven than they have purchased of the poor by their alms.

If I dream I have you, I have you, for all our joys are but fantastical.

Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

My world's both parts, and 'o! Both parts must die.

My love though silly is more brave.