Though I Be But Prince Of Wales,

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes, Bliss In Our Brows' Bent; None Our Parts So Poor But Was A Race Of Heaven.

There Are No Tricks In Plain And Simple Faith.

I Heard A Bird So Sing, Whose Music, To My Thinking, Pleased The King.

For Grief Is Crowned With Consolation.

Death, Not Romeo, Take My Maidenhead!