Every Man Has His Fault, And Honesty

No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead Than You Shall Hear The Surly Sullen Bell Give Warning To The World That I Am Fled From This Vile World With Vilest Worms To Dwell: Nay, If You Read This Line, Remember Not The Hand That Writ It, For I Love You So, That I In Your Sweet Thoughts Would Be Forgot, If Thinking On Me Then Should Make You Woe. O! If, I Say, You Look Upon This Verse When I Perhaps Compounded Am With Clay, Do Not So Much As My Poor Name Rehearse; But Let Your Love Even With My Life Decay; Lest The Wise World Should Look Into Your Moan, And Mock You With Me After I Am Gone.

I Will Not Choose What Many Men Desire, Because I Will Not Jump With Common Spirits And Rank Me With The Barbarous Multitudes.

Love Is Merely A Madness, And, I Tell You, Deserves As Well A Dark House And A Whip As Madmen Do.

Alas, I Am A Woman Friendless, Hopeless!

He's Truly Valiant That Can Wisely Suffer The Worst That Man Can Breathe, And Make His Wrongs His Outsides, To Wear Them Like His Raiment, Carelessly, And Ne'er Prefer His Injuries To His Heart, To Bring It Into Danger.