O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.

Love that well which thou must leave ere long.

I'll speak in a monstrous little voice.

A very scurvy fellow.

Done to death by slanderous tongue

I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, for wise men say it is the wisest course.