If We Still Advise We Shall Never

My Seat Has Been The Seat Of Kings, And I Will Have No Rascal To Succeed Me.

I Grieve And Dare Not Show My Discontent, I Love And Yet Am Forced To Seem To Hate, I Do, Yet Dare Not Say I Ever Meant, I Seem Stark Mute But Inwardly Do Prate. I Am And Not, I Freeze And Yet Am Burned, Since From Myself Another Self I Turned. My Care Is Like My Shadow In The Sun, Follows Me Flying, Flies When I Pursue It, Stands And Lies By Me, Doth What I Have Done.

There Is Only One Christ, Jesus, One Faith. All Else Is A Dispute Over Trifles.

I Am No Lover Of Pompous Title, But Only Desire That My Name May Be Recorded In A Line Or Two, Which Shall Briefly Express My Name, My Virginity, The Years Of My Reign, The Reformation Of Religion Under It, And My Preservation Of Peace.

I Pluck Up The Good Lissome Herbs Of Sentences By Pruning, Eat Them By Reading, Digest Them By Musing, And Lay Them Up At Length In The High Seat Of Memory.