Tears are the noble language of eyes, and when true love of words is destitute. The eye by tears speak, while the tongue is mute.

So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade; All love, all liking, all delight Lies drowned with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying; Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.

Tears are the noble language of the eye.

The body is the soul's poor house or home, whose ribs the laths are and whose flesh the loam.

Each must in virtue strive for to excel; That man lives twice that lives the first life well.

He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.

It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.