When we our betters see bearing our woes,
We scarcely think our miseries our foes.

O! woe is me,To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope.

Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue But moody and dull melancholy, Kinsman to a grim and comfortless despair, And at her heels a huge infectious troop Of pale distemperatures and foes to life?

No, misery makes sport to mock itself.