The Private Wound Is Deepest. O Time

Man, Proud Man, Drest In A Little Brief Authority, Most Ignorant Of What He's Most Assur D, Glassy Essence, Like An Angry Ape, Plays Such Fantastic Tricks Before High Heaven, As Make The Angels Weep.

A Wretched Soul, Bruised With Adversity, We Bid Be Quiet When We Hear It Cry. But Were We Burd'ned With Like Weight Of Pain, As Much Or More We Should Ourselves Complain: So Thou, That Hast No Unkind Mate To Grieve Thee, With Urging Helpless Patience Wouldst Relieve Me; But If Thou Live To See Like Right Bereft, This Fool-begged Patience In Thee Will Be Left.

'tis Thought The King Is Dead; We Will Not Stay. The Bay Trees In Our Country Are All Wither'd.

If Our Virtues Did Not Go Forth Of Us, It Were All Alike As If We Had Them Not.

I And My Bosom Must Debate Awhile, And Then I Would No Other Company.