Travelers Must Be Content.

The Robbed That Smiles, Steals Something From The Thief.

What The Vengeance, Could He Not Speak 'em Fair?

Heaven Truly Knows That Thou Art False As Hell.

And Therefore Is Love Said To Be A Child, Because In Choice He Is So Oft Beguil'd

Therefore I Tell My Sorrows To The Stones; Who, Though They Cannot Answer My Distress, Yet In Some Sort They Are Better Than The Tribunes, For That They Will Not Intercept My Tale: When I Do Weep, They Humbly At My Feet Receive My Tears And Seem To Weep With Me; And, Were They But Attired In Grave Weeds, Rome Could Afford No Tribune Like To These.