Your highest female grace is silence.
The voice so sweet, the words so fair, As some soft chime had stroked the air; And though the sound had parted thence, Still left an echo in the sense.
Indeed there's a woundy luck in names.
Nor use too swelling, or ill-sounded words . . . .
Fear to do base, unworthy things is valor; if they be one to us, to suffer them is valor too.
The day For whose returns, and many, all these pray; And so do I.