'T is better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perked up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.
When griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind opresses, then music, with her silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.
Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul
Grief makes one hour ten
Every one can master a grief but he that has it
Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows
What's gone and what's past help should be past grief
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud For grief is proud an't makes his owner stoop
The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief: He robs himself that spends a bootless grief
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief
Patch grief with proverbs
The gallantry of his grief did put me into a towering passion.
You may my glories and my state depose,<br/>But not my griefs; still am I king of those.
This feather stirs; she lives! If it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.
Like Shakespeare way of speaking? Here is a fun tool that translates normal English to Shakespeare English.