So curses all Eve's daughters of what complexion soever.
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words
I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him.
Blest are those Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please.
My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.