Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.
Done to death by slanderous tongue
The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so.
Frame your mind to mirth and merriment which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
But jealous souls will not be answered so, They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they're jealous. 'Tis a monster Begot upon itself, born on itself.