But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought,
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
She saw, like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.
Twelfth Night, A. 2, S. 4.
She shall be
A pattern to all ... living with her....
Holy and heavenly thoughts shall still counsel her;
She shall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own shall bless her....