The Hand That Hath Made You Fair

Then Will I Raise Aloft The Milk-white Rose. For Whose Sweet Smell The Air Shall Be Perfumed.

Yet This My Comfort: When Your Words Are Done, My Woes End Likewise With The Evening Sun.

The Seeming Truth Which Cunning Times Put On To Entrap The Wisest.

Sweet Love! Sweet Lines! Sweet Life! Here Is Her Hand, The Agent Of Her Heart; Here Is Her Oath For Love, Her Honour's Pawn

By My Soul I Swear, There Is No Power In The Tongue Of Man To Alter Me.