Sorrow, like a heavy ringing bell, once set on ringing, with its own weight goes; then little strength rings out the doleful knell.
This fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest.
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
A peevish self-willed harlotry it is. *She’s a stubborn little brat.*
Hang those that talk of fear.
...an old man is twice a child.