I Must Be Gone And

In Brief, Sir, Study What You Most Affect.

I'll Say She Looks As Clear As Morning Roses Newly Washed With Dew.

Myself--a Prince By Fortune Of My Birth, Near To The King In Blood, And Near In Love Till You Did Make Him Misinterpret Me-- Have Stooped My Neck Under Your Injuries And Sighed My English Breath In Foreign Clouds, Eating The Bitter Bread Of Banishment, Whilst You Have Fed Upon My Signories, Disparked My Parks And Felled My Forest Woods, From My Own Windows Torn My Household Coat, Rased Out My Imprese, Leaving Me No Sign, Save Men's Opinions And My Living Blood, To Show The World I Am A Gentleman.

O, Then, What Graces In My Love Do Dwell, That He Hath Turn'd A Heaven Unto Hell

I Never Yet Did Hear, That The Bruis'd Heart Was Pierced Through The Ear