Oh, God! I Have An Ill-divining Soul!

Ingratitude Is Monstrous.

No Evil Lost Is Wailed When It Is Gone.

Then Know, That I Have Little Wealth To Lose. A Man I Am, Crossed With Adversity; My Riches Are These Poor Habiliments, Of Which If You Should Here Disfurnish Me, You Take The Sum And Substance That I Have.

Where Hateful Death Put On His Ugliest Mask.

Is Love A Tender Thing? It Is Too Rough, Too Rude, Too Boisterous, And It Pricks Like Thorn.