Although My Royal Rank Causes Me To

Do Not Tell Secrets To Those Whose Faith And Silence You Have Not Already Tested.

I Would Rather Be A Beggar And Single Than A Queen And Married.

If I Follow The Inclination Of My Nature, It Is This: Beggar-woman And Single, Far Rather Than Queen And Married.

I Pluck Up The Good Lissome Herbs Of Sentences By Pruning, Eat Them By Reading, Digest Them By Musing, And Lay Them Up At Length In The High Seat Of Memory.

My Loving People, We Have Been Persuaded By Some That Are Careful Of Our Safety, To Take Heed How We Commit Ourself To Armed Multitudes For Fear Of Treachery; But I Assure You, I Do Not Desire To Live To Distrust My Faithful And Loving People. I Know I Have The Body But Of A Weak And Feeble Woman, But I Have The Heart And Stomach Of A King, And Of A King Of England Too, And Think Foul Scorn That Parma Or Spain, Or Any Prince Of Europe Should Dare To Invade The Borders Of My Realm.