Death lies on her like an untimely frost.
Many dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favors.
A Devil, a born Devil on whose nature, nurture can never stick, on whom my pain, humanly taken, all lost, quite lost.
Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing.
These times of woe afford no time to woo.
Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil; With them forgive yourself.