He That Is Thy Friend Indeed, He

Through Tattered Clothes, Small Vices Do Appear. Robes And Furred Gowns Hide All.

Men's Evil Manners Live In Brass; Their Virtues We Write In Water.

The Thing Of Courage As Rous'd With Rage Doth Sympathise, And, With An Accent Tun'd In Self-same Key, Retorts To Chiding Fortune.

But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade.

I Will Make A Star-chamber Matter Of It.