No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir. My daughter he hath wedded. I will die, And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death’s.
There is plenty of time to sleep in the grave
one pain is cured by another. catch some new infection in your eye and the poison of the old one would die.
Ornament is but the guiled shore to a most dangerous sea.
Free from gross passion or of mirth of anger constant spirit, not swerving with the blood, garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment, not working with the eye without the ear, and but in purged judgement trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem.