How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!
He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.
Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?
I see a man's life is a tedious one.
But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds [vows] disgraced them." Viola: "Thy reason, man?" Feste: "Troth [Truthfully], sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false, I am loathe to prove reason with them.
Instead of weeping when a tragedy occurs in a songbird's life, it sings away its grief. I believe we could well follow the pattern of our feathered friends.