Lord, Lord, How This World Is Given

An Earnest Conjuration From The King, As England Was His Faithful Tributary, As Love Between Them Like The Palm Might Flourish, As Peace Should Still Her Wheaten Garland Wear And Stand A Comma 'tween Their Amities, And Many Such-like As's Of Great Charge, That, On The View And Knowing Of These Contents, Without Debatement Further, More Or Less, He Should The Bearers Put To Sudden Death, Not Shriving Time Allow'd.

False Face Must Hide What The False Heart Doth Know.

The Quality Of Mercy Is Not Strain'd, It Droppeth As The Gentle Rain From Heaven Upon The Place Beneath: It Is Twice Blest; It Blesseth Him That Gives And Him That Takes: 'tis Mightiest In The Mightiest: It Becomes The Throned Monarch Better Than His Crown; His Sceptre Shows The Force Of Temporal Power, The Attribute To Awe And Majesty, Wherein Doth Sit The Dread And Fear Of Kings; But Mercy Is Above This Sceptred Sway; It Is Enthroned In The Hearts Of Kings, It Is An Attribute To God Himself; And Earthly Power Doth Then Show Likest God's When Mercy Seasons Justice.

For I Am He Am Born To Tame You, Kate; And Bring You From A Wild Kate To A Kate Conformable As Other Household Kates.

Having Nothing, Nothing Can He Lose.