Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered by a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marle?

Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes: Some falls are means the happier to arise

Love for thy love , and hand for hand I give.

There's villainous news abroad.

I came, saw, and overcame.

He was not so much brain as earwax

My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.