The Hind That Would Be Mated By

Right Joyous Are We To Behold Your Face, Most Worthy Brother England; Fairly Met!

We Are Not Ourselves When Nature, Being Oppressed, Commands The Mind To Suffer With The Body.

We Cannot All Be Masters.

To Show An Unfelt Sorrow Is An Office Which The False Man Does Easy.

The Urging Of That Word, Judgment, Hath Bred A Kind Of Remorse In Me.