A happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story
The sense of death is most in apprehension, And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
Full of wise saws and modern instances.
true apothecary thy drugs art quick
And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears.
Music can minister to minds diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, and with its sweet oblivious antidote, cleanse the full bosom of all perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart.