O, Thou hast damnable iteration; and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint.
Gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gain'd my freedom.
O polished perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night.
A flock of blessings light upon thy back
But when I came, alas, to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day.
He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.