For there was never yet philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently.

“Make thee another self for love of me,That beauty still may live in thine or th…”

“What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night,So stumblest on my counsel?*Wh…”

“Why, I can smile and murder whiles I smile,And cry 'content' to that which grie…”

“For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.”