Thou Knowest, Winter Tames Man, Woman, And

The Lily I Condemned For Thy Hand, And Buds Of Marjoram Had Stol'n Thy Hair: The Roses Fearfully On Thorns Did Stand, One Blushing Shame, Another White Despair; A Third, Nor Red Nor White, Had Stol'n Of Both And To His Robbery Had Annex'd Thy Breath; But, For His Theft, In Pride Of All His Growth A Vengeful Canker Eat Him Up To Death. More Flowers I Noted, Yet I None Could See But Sweet Or Colour It Had Stol'n From Thee.

Right Joyous Are We To Behold Your Face, Most Worthy Brother England; Fairly Met!

In Peace There's Nothing So Becomes A Man As Modest Stillness And Humility: But When The Blast Of War Blows In Our Ears, Then Imitate The Action Of The Tiger; Stiffen The Sinews, Summon Up The Blood, Disguise Fair Nature With Hard-favour'd Rage; Then Lend The Eye A Terrible Aspect; . . . . Now Set The Teeth And Stretch The Nostril Wide, Hold Hard The Breath And Bend Up Every Spirit To His Full Height. On, On, You Noblest English.

Well, I Must Be Patient; There Is No Fettering Of Authority.

The Most Peaceable Way For You, If You Do Take A Thief, Is, To Let Him Show Himself What He Is And Steal Out Of Your Company.