Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache; but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.

In struggling with misfortunes lies the true proof of virtue.

Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief

Against love's fire fear`s frost hath dissolution

Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.

Wish chastely, and love dearly.

The big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose, In piteous chase.