Locked up from mortal eye in shady leaves of destiny.
Two went to pray? Better to say one went to brag, the other to pray.
Heaven's great artillery.
A pillow for thee will I bring,Stuffed with down of angel's wing.
Nothing speaks our grief so well as to speak nothing.
All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, and thy pains sit bright on thee. All thy sorrows here shall shine and thy sufferings be divine; Tears shall take comfort and turn to gems and wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new dress the soul that once they slew.