So, So, Break Off This Last Lamenting

I Did Best When I Had Least Truth For My Subjects.

True And False Fears Let Us Refrain, Let Us Love Nobly, And Live, And Add Again Years And Years Unto Years, Till We Attain To Write Threescore ; This Is The Second Of Our Reign.

. . . Change Is The Nursery Of Musicke, Joy, Life And Eternity.

Our Faults Are Not Seen, But Past Us; Neither Felt, But Only In The Punishment.

For I Am Every Dead Thing In Whom Love Wrought New Alchemy For His Art Did Express A Quintessence Even From Nothingness, From Dull Privations, And Lean Emptiness He Ruined Me, And I Am Re-begot Of Absence, Darkness, Death; Things Which Are Not.