The Moon's An Arrant Thief, And Her

Sweets Grown Common Lose Their Dear Delight.

We Must Be Gentle Now We Are Gentlemen.

And It Is Very Much Lamented,... That You Have No Such Mirrors As Will Turn Your Hidden Worthiness Into Your Eye That You Might See Your Shadow.

I Cannot Tell What You And Other Men Think Of This Life; But, For My Single Self, I Had As Lief Not Be As Live To Be In Awe Of Such A Thing As I Myself.

It Were A Grief So Brief To Part With Thee. Farewell.