Against Ill Chances Men Are Ever Merry,

Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come

He Is Deformed, Crooked, Old And Sere, Ill-faced, Worse Bodied, Shapeless Everywhere; Vicious, Ungentle, Foolish, Blunt, Unkind; Stigmatical In Making, Worse In Mind.

These Earthly Godfathers Of Heaven's Lights, That Give A Name To Every Fixed Star, Have No More Profit Of Their Shining Nights Than Those That Walk And Know Not What They Are.

O Mischief, Thou Art Swift To Enter In The Thoughts Of Desperate Men!

Bring Me A Constant Woman To Her Husband, One That Ne'er Dream'd A Joy Beyond His Pleasure, And To That Woman, When She Has Done Most, Yet Will I Add An Honour-a Great Patience.