... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.

O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school; And though she be but little, she is fierce.

Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.

You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty!

We cannot fight for love, as men may do; we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo

Diseases desperate grown By desperate appliances are relieved, Or not at all.

Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.