The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, Which hurts and is desired.

The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts and is desired.

Necessity's sharp pinch!

Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as Jove.

Everything hurts.

Done to death by slanderous tongues