Well, Every One Can Master A Grief

Tis Safter To Be That Which We Destroy Than By Destruction Dwell In Doubtful Joy.

I Can See His Pride Peep Through Each Part Of Him.

Whose Heart The Accustom'd Sight Of Death Makes Hard.

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.

Mine Eyes Were Not In Fault, For She Was Beautiful; Mine Ears, That Heard Her Flattery; Nor My Heart, That Thought Her Like Her Seeming. It Had Been Vicious To Have Mistrusted Her.