As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.

Now I am past all comforts here, but prayer.

Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp with truth and loyalty.

Our jovial star reigned at his birth.

Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.

I am a man more sinned against than sinning