So May He Rest, His Faults Lie

How Is It That The Clouds Still Hang On You?

O Wretched State! O Bosom Black As Death!

In Law, What Plea So Tainted And Corrupts, But Being Seasoned With A Gracious Voice Obscures The Show Of Evil.

If't Be Summer News, Smile To't Before; If Winterly, Thou Need'st But Keep That Count'nance Still.

In Thy Face I See The Map Of Honour, Truth And Loyalty.