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?

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope.

No, misery makes sport to mock itself.

Meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones; And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuffed, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses Were thinly scattered, to make up a show.

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