Beshrew That Heart That Makes My Heart

She Never Told Her Love, But Let Concealment, Like A Worm 'i Th' Bud, Feed On Her Damask Cheek. She Pinned In Thought; And, With A Green And Yellow Melancholy, She Sat Like Patience On A Monument, Smiling At Grief. Was Not This Love Indeed? We Men May Say More, Swear More; But Indeed Our Shows Are More Than Will; For We Still Prove Much In Our Vows But Little In Our Love.

God Shall Be My Hope, My Stay, My Guide And Lantern To My Feet.

Modest Wisdom Plucks Me From Over-credulous Haste.

They Do Not Abuse The King That Flatter Him. For Flattery Is The Bellows Blows Up Sin; The Thing The Which Is Flattered, But A Spark To Which That Blast Gives Heat And Stronger Glowing.

Time Shall Unfold What Plaited Cunning Hides: Who Cover Faults, At Last Shame Them Derides.