O, Train Me Not, Sweet Mermaid, With

This Is The Very Coinage Of Your Brain: This Bodiless Creation Ecstasy.

That If You Be Honest And Fair, Your Honesty Should Admit No Discourse To Your Beauty.

Give Me My Robe, Put On My Crown; I Have Immortal Longings In Me.

Wisdom And Goodness To The Vile Seem Vile; Filths Savour But Themselves.

The Wound Of Peace Is Surety, Surety Secure; But Modest Doubt Is Called The Beacon Of The Wise, The Tent That Searches To Th' Bottom Of The Worst.