Foul whisp'rings are abroad.
Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel.
Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.
Pride went before, ambition follows him.
Look to her, Moor, if thou has eyes to see. She has deceived her father, and may thee.
Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow.