His Forward Voice Now Is To Speak

Verily, I Swear, It Is Better To Be Lowly Born, And Range With Humble Livers In Content, Than To Be Perked Up In A Glistering Grief, And Wear A Golden Sorrow.

See Where She Comes Apparelled Like The Spring.

If We Are Mark'd To Die, We Are Enow To Do Our Country Loss; And If To Live, The Fewer Men, The Greater Share Of Honour. God's Will! I Pray Thee; Wish Not One Man More.

So All My Best Is Dressing Old Words New.

I Have Nothing Of Woman In Me; Now From Head To Foot I Am Marble-constant.