I Do Not Want A Husband Who

O Fortune, How Thy Restless, Wavering State Has Fraught With Cares My Troubled Wit!

I Do Not Choose That My Grave Should Be Dug While I Am Still Alive.

I Plucke Up The Goodlie Greene Herbes Of Sentences By Pruning, Eat Them By Reading, Chawe Them By Musing, And Laie Them Up At Length In The Hie Seate Of Memorie By Gathering Them Together; That I, Having Tasted The Sweetenes, L May The Lesse Perceave The Bitternes Of This Miserable Life.

I Grieve And Dare Not Show My Discontent, I Love And Yet Am Forced To Seem To Hate, I Do, Yet Dare Not Say I Ever Meant, I Seem Stark Mute But Inwardly Do Prate. I Am And Not, I Freeze And Yet Am Burned, Since From Myself Another Self I Turned. My Care Is Like My Shadow In The Sun, Follows Me Flying, Flies When I Pursue It, Stands And Lies By Me, Doth What I Have Done.

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