Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
Perseverance, my dear Lord. Keeps honour bright.
Although the last, not least.
In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life.
How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?