Thou ominous and fearful owl of death.
My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
In struggling with misfortunes lies the true proof of virtue.
What is more miserable than discontent?
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn.
I see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist.