I Fill Up A Place, Which May

For Grief Is Crowned With Consolation.

Have Not Saints Lips, And Holy Palmers Too Ay, Pilgrim, Lips That They Must Use In Prayer.

And Oftentimes Excusing Of A Fault Doth Make The Fault The Worse By The Excuse.

Be Collected. No More Amazement. Tell Your Piteous Heart There's No Harm Done.

Think'st Thou I'd Make A Life Of Jealousy, To Follow Still The Changes Of The Moon With Fresh Suspicions? No; To Be Once In Doubt Is Once To Be Resolved.