The Lady Doth Protest Too Much, Methinks.

This Tyrant, Whose Sole Name Blisters Our Tongues,was Once Thought Honest.

I Have Heard Of Your Paintings Too, Well Enough; God Has Given You One Face, And You Make Yourselves Another.

What Early Tongue So Sweet Saluteth Me?

This England Never Did, Nor Never Shall, Lie At The Proud Foot Of A Conqueror.

Sweet Recreation Barred, What Doth Ensue But Moody And Dull Melancholy, Kinsman To Grim And Comfortless Despair.