Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.

Between cowardice and despair, valour is gendred.

At the round earth's imagined corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls **** All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.

Poor heretics there be,Which think to establish dangerous constancy,But I have told them, ‘Since you will be true,You shall be true to them, who are false to you.

We can die by it, if not live by love, And if unfit for tombs and hearse Our legend be, it will be fit for verse; And if no peace of chronicle we prove, We'll build in sonnet pretty rooms; As well a well wrought urne becomes The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs.

The Psalms foretell what I, what any shall do and suffer and say.

Keep us, Lord, so awake in the duties of our calling that we may sleep in thy peace and wake in thy glory.