Death ends our woes, and the kind grave shuts up the mournful scene.

He who would search for pearls must dive below.

Such subtle Covenants shall be made,Till Peace it self is War in Masquerade.

But dying is a pleasure / When living is a pain.

Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.

They that possess the prince possess the laws.

Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased.