Be As Thou Wast Wont To Be.

This England Never Did, Nor Never Shall, Lie At The Proud Foot Of A Conqueror.

An Envious Fever Of Pale And Bloodless Emulation.

His Heart As Far From Fraud As Heaven From Earth.

Thrust Your Head Into The Public Street, To Gaze On Christian Fools With Varnish'd Faces.

Two Loves I Have, Of Comfort And Despair, Which Like Two Spirits Do Suggest Me Still: The Better Angel Is A Man Right Fair, The Worser Spirit A Woman Coloured Ill.