Now, Infidel, I Have You

A Wicked Conscience Mouldeth Goblins Swift As Frenzy Thoughts.

Let Us, Like Merchants, Show Our Foulest Wares, And Think Perchance They'll Sell; If Not, The Lustre Of The Better Yet To Show Shall Show The Better.

Come, Lady, Die To Live.

Murder Most Foul, As In The Best It It; But This Most Foul, Strange, And Unnatural.

I Do Love My Country's Good With A Respect More Tender, More Holy And Profound, Then Mine Own Life, My Dear Wife's Estimate, Her Womb Increase, And Treasure Of My Loins.