Gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

Death lies on her like an untimely frost.

For so work the honey bees, creatures that by a rule in nature teach the act of order to a peopled kingdom.

The sense of death is most in apprehension, And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity; but you gods will give us Some faults to make us men.

where civil blood makes civil hands unclean

For she had eyes and chose me.