The Guilty Think All Talk Is Of

Go, Little Booke! Go, My Little Tragedie!

If No Love Is, O God, What Fele I So? And If Love Is, What Thing And Which Is He? If Love Be Good, From Whennes Cometh My Woo? If It Be Wikke, A Wonder Thynketh Me

Thus With Hir Fader For A Certeyn Space Dwelleth This Flour Of Wyfly Pacience, That Neither By Hir Wordes Ne Hir Face Biforn The Folk, Ne Eek In Her Absence, Ne Shewed She That Hir Was Doon Offence.

But Manly Set The World On Sixe And Sevene; And, If Thou Deye A Martir, Go To Hevene.

Yet In Our Ashen Cold Is Fire Yreken.