If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms.

Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege; The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.

I am not of that feather, to shake off my friend when he must need me

So quick bright things come to confusion.​​​​​​

When Death doth close his tender dying eyes.

Temptation is the fire that brings up the scum of the heart.

Bell, book and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on.