I go, I go, look how I go, swifter than an arrow from a bow
I may neither choose who I would, nor refuse who I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father.
Bounty, being free itself, thinks all others so.
What: is the jay more precious than the lark because his feathers are more beautiful?
Crack'd in pieces by malignant Death.
Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries.