Now I am past all comforts here, but prayer.
The will of man is by his reason sway'd.
Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.
Be still prepared for death: and death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
And, if you love me, as I think you do, let's kiss and part, for we have much to do
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,Was once thought honest.