what cannot be saved when fate takes, patience her injury a mockery makes

Hereditary sloth instructs me.

My falcon now is sharp and passing empty, and till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, for then she never looks upon her lure.

All thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test; here, afore heaven, I ratify this my rich gift.

The bird that hath been limed in a bush, with trembling wings misdoubteth every bush.

Though Death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

Wisely, I say, I am a bachelor.