Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?

He that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache

There's beggary in love that can be reckoned

Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

Slander lives upon succession, For ever housed where it gets possession.