Virtue Itself Turns Vice, Being Misapplied, And

Death Is My Son-in-law, Death Is My Heir.

For This Relief, Much Thanks

Extreme Fear Can Neither Fight Nor Fly.

As There Comes Light From Heaven And Words From Breath, As There Is Sense In Truth And Truth In Virtue

Prophet May You Be! If I Be False, Or Swerve A Hair From Truth, When Time Is Old And Hath Forgot Itself, When Waterdrops Have Worn The Stones Of Troy, And Blind Oblivion Swallowed Cities Up, And Mighty States Characterless Are Grated To Dusty Nothing, Yet Let Memory, From False To False, Among False Maids In Love, Upbraid My Falsehood!