I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; And if I die no soul will pity me: And wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself?
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together: our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our own virtues.
I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope.
Should all despair That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves.
Discomfort guides my tongue And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue but moody and dull melancholy, kinsman to grim and comfortless despair.
There is no creature loves me; And if I die, no soul will pity me.
Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low.
May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode! But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you till mischief and despair Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves.
Despair and die. The ghosts
God be prais'd, that to believing souls, Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair
Oft expectation fails, and most oft where most it promises; and oft it hits where hope is coldest; and despair most sits
O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!