You Abilities Are Too Infant-like For Doing

Thou Art A Slave, Whom Fortune's Tender Arm With Favour Never Clasp'd; But Bred A Dog.

Go To You Bosom: Knock There, And Ask Your Heart What It Doth Know.

Weep I Cannot; But My Heart Bleeds.

I Love Thee So, That, Maugre All Thy Pride, Nor Wit Nor Reason Can My Passion Hide. Do Not Extort Thy Reasons From This Clause, For That I Woo, Thou Therefore Hast No Cause But Rather Reason Thus With Reason Fetter, Love Sought Is Good, But Given Unsought Better.

Un-thread The Rude Eye Of Rebellion, And Welcome Home Again Discarded Faith.