Thou Canst Not Speak Of What Thou

And Sleep, That Sometime Shuts Up Sorrow's Eye, Steal Me Awhile From Mine Own Company.

Either Our History Shall With Full Mouth Speak Freely Of Our Acts, Or Else Our Grave, Like Turkish Mute, Shall Have A Tongueless Mouth, Not Worshipped With A Waxen Epitaph.

It Is Not Night When I Do See Your Face.

Hang There Like Fruit, My Soul, Till The Tree Die!

If One Good Deed In All My Life I Did, I Do Repent It From My Very Soul.