My dear, dear Lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation; that away Men are but gilded loan or painted clay... Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; Take honor from me, and my life is done.

That which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in. and the best of me is diligence.

Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.

Foul whisp'rings are abroad.

For I can raise no money by vile means.

A man I am cross'd with adversity.

God send everyone their heart's desire!