And oft, my jealousy shapes faults that are not.

These words are razors to my wounded heart.

Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.

So we grew together like to a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet an union in partition, two lovely berries molded on one stem.

But no perfection is so absolute, That some impurity doth not pollute.

Adieu! I have too grieved a heart to take a tedious leave.

For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase.