When Death Doth Close His Tender Dying

Courage And Comfort, All Shall Yet Go Well

It Is A Basilisk Unto Mine Eye, Kills Me To Look On't.

Love All, Trust A Few, Do Wrong To None.

How Many A Holy And Obsequious Tear Hath Dear Religious Love Stolen From Mine Eye, As Interest Of The Dead!

Like A Red Morn That Ever Yet Betokened, Wreck To The Seaman, Tempest To The Field, Sorrow To The Shepherds, Woe Unto The Birds, Gusts And Foul Flaws To Herdmen And To Herds.