Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.
Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.
Wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
What I should say My tears gainsay; for every word I speak, Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes.
To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
See, see what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart.
My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.
Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, For wise men say it is the wisest course.
I cannot weep; for all my body’s moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart.
And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber’d oak.