Dissembling Courtesy! How Fine This Tyrant Can

Who Soars Too Near The Sun, With Golden Wings, Melts Them.

What Sadness Lengthens Romeo’s Hours?

Extreme Fear Can Neither Fight Nor Fly.

O My Good Lord, That Comfort Comes Too Late, 'tis Like A Pardon After Execution. That Gentle Physic, Given In Time, Had Cured Me; But Now I Am Past All Comforts Here But Prayers.

What Should Such Fellows As I Do Crawling Between Earth And Heaven?