No Visor Does Become Black Villainy So

As Flies To Wanton Boys, Are We To The Gods; They Kill Us For Their Sport.

What Is More Miserable Than Discontent?

Pray You Now, Forget And Forgive.

Fight, Gentlemen Of England! Fight, Bold Yeomen! Draw, Archers, Draw Your Arrows To The Head! Spur Your Proud Horses Hard, And Ride In Blood; Amaze The Welkin With Your Broken Staves!

When Thou Cam'st First, Thou Strok'st Me And Made Much Of Me; Wouldst Give Me Water With Berries In't; And Teach Me How To Name The Bigger Light, And How The Less, That Burn By Day And Night; And Then I Loved Thee And Showed Thee All The Qualities O' Th' Isle, The Fresh Springs, Brine-pits, Barren Place And Fertile.