He Hath Eaten Me Out Of House

If It Be A Sin To Covet Honor, I Am The Most Offending Soul.

He's All My Exercise, My Mirth, My Matter.

These Cardinals Trifle With Me; I Abhor; This Dilatory Sloth And Tricks Of Rome.

Yet, Do Thy Worst, Old Time; Despite Thy Wrong, My Love Shall In My Verse Ever Live Young.

Here Feel We But The Penalty Of Adam, The Seasons' Difference, As The Icy Fang And Churlish Chiding Of The Winter's Wind, Which, When It Bites And Blows Upon My Body, Even Till I Shrink With Cold, I Smile.