That which in mean men we entitle patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
We that are true lovers run into strange capers.
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.
All dark and comfortless.
This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh!
Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.