Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts.
O' thinkest thou we shall ever meet again? I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our times to come.
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.
Adversity makes strange bedfellows.
Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?