It Is A Wise Father That Knows

Open Thy Gate Of Mercy, Gracious God, My Soul Flies Through These Wounds To Seek Out Thee.

O Death, Made Proud With Pure And Princely Beauty!

Virtue That Transgresses Is But Patched With Sin; And Sin That Amends Is But Patched With Virtue.

Speak Of Me As I Am. Nothing Extenuate, Nor Set Down Aught In Malice.

O! She Doth Teach The Torches To Burn Bright It Seems She Hangs Upon The Cheek Of Night Like A Rich Jewel In An Ethiop's Ear; Beauty Too Rich For Use, For Earth Too Dear. - Romeo -