This is the short and the long of it.

Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face! I had rather lie in the woolen.

Desire of having is the sin of covetousness.

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.

So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.

Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

Though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve.