The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.
And I will make it felony to drink small beer.
I thought my heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.
'Tis brief, my lord...as woman's love.
Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
Done to death by slanderous tongue