In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame.

For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

The bitter clamor of two eager tongues.

God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

When most I wink, then do my eyes best see

O mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts of desperate men!

All pride is willing pride.