Our Wills And Fates Do So Contrary

Pray, Do Not Mock Me. I Am A Very Foolish Fond Old Man, Fourscore And Upward, Not An Hour More Nor Less; And, To Deal Plainly, I Fear I Am Not In My Perfect Mind.

The Bashful Virgin's Sidelong Looks Of Love, The Matron's Glance That Would Those Looks Reprove.

Right Joyous Are We To Behold Your Face, Most Worthy Brother England; Fairly Met!

Guiltiness Will Speak, Though Tongues Were Out Of Use

Now I Am Past All Comforts Here, But Prayer.