There was never yet philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently
We must follow, not force Providence.
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little more than a little is by much too much.
And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.
Though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy.
Crack'd in pieces by malignant Death.