Is there no hope? the sick man said, The silent doctor shook his head, And took his leave with signs of sorrow, Despairing of his fee to-morrow.

But his kiss was so sweet, and so closely he pressed, that I languished and pined till I granted the rest.

One common fate we both must prove; You die with envy, I with love.

Do you think your mother and I should have lived comfortably so long together, if ever we had been married? Baggage!

Who hath not heard the rich complain Of surfeits, and corporeal pain? He barr'd from every use of wealth, Envies the ploughman's strength and health.

Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books consumed the midnight oil?

Thus shadow owes its birth to light.