No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?
Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sunburnt; I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband!
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.
Gold--what can it not do, and undo?
Men's vows are women's traitors
So distribution should undo excess, and each man have enough.