The Gallantry Of His Grief

Thou Hast Her, France; Let Her Be Thine, For We Have No Such Daughter, Nor Shall Ever See That Face Of Hers Again. Therefore Be Gone Without Our Grace, Our Love, Our Benison.

Well, God's Above All; And There Be Souls Must Be Saved, And There Be Souls Must Not Be Saved.

Full Of Wise Saws And Modern Instances.

The Color Of The King Doth Come And Go, Between His Purpose And His Conscience, Like Heralds 'twixt Two Dreadful Battles Set: His Passion Is So Ripe, It Needs Must Break.

I'll Follow Thee And Make A Heaven Of Hell, To Die Upon The Hand I Love So Well