Talkers are no good doers.
My only love sprung from my only hate.
I am not bound to please thee with my answer.
My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; I know not where I am nor what I do.
Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, And we are for the Dark.
I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, My gay apparel for an almsman's gown, My figured goblets for a dish of wood, My scepter for a palmer's walking staff My subjects for a pair of carved saints and my large kingdom for a little grave.