A Man In All The World's New

My Soul Is In The Sky.

Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loath To Prove Reason With Them.

When Holy And Devout Religious Men Are At Their Beads, 'tis Hard To Draw Them Thence; So Sweet Is Zealous Contemplation.

O, My Lord, You Said That Idle Weeds Are Fast In Growth: The Prince My Brother Hath Outgrown Me Far.

Past All Shame, So Past All Truth.