All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.
Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
Tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them.
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
Life is as tedious as twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.