Could my griefs speak, the tale would have no end.

Who's a prince or beggar in the grave?

Oh woman! lovely woman! nature made thee To temper man; we had been brutes without you; Angels are painted fair to look like you; There's in you all that we believe of heaven, Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.

Dame Fortune, like most others of the female sex, is generally most indulgent to the nimble-mettled blockheads.

Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labor to overcome the cloud that loads em.

Base natures ever judge a thing above them, and hate a power they are too much obliged to.

Cowards are scared with threatenings; boys are whipped into confession; but a steady mind acts of itself, ne'er asks the body counsel.