My dear, dear Lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation; that away Men are but gilded loan or painted clay... Mine honor is my life; both grow in one; Take honor from me, and my life is done.
Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow.
Perseverance, my dear Lord. Keeps honour bright.
The man that hath no music in himself
The moon, like to a silver bow new bent in heaven.
Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of Our human generation you shall find.