Truth Hath A Quiet Breast.

My Hands Are Of Your Color, But I Shame To Wear A Heart So White.

For Now They Kill Me With A Living Death.

One Sin, I Know, Another Doth Provoke. Murder's As Near To Lust As Flame To Smoke.

Learning Is But An Adjunct To Ourself, And Where We Are Our Learning Likewise Is.

Fair Ladies, Masked, Are Roses In Their Bud; Dismasked, The Damask Sweet Commixture Shown, Are Angels Vailing Clouds, Or Roses Blown.