When Truth Kills Truth, O Devilish Holy

We All Are Men, In Our Own Natures Frail, And Capable Of Our Flesh; Few Are Angels.

Thyself Shall See The Act; For, As Thou Urgest Justice, Be Assured Thou Shalt Have Justice, More Than Thou Desir'st.

Come, And Take Choice Of All My Library, And So Beguile Thy Sorrow.

For Thy Sweet Love Remember'd Such Wealth Brings That Then I Scorn To Change My State With Kings.

Through Tattered Clothes Great Vices Do Appear; Robes And Furred Gowns Hide All. Plate Sin With Gold And The Strong Lance Of Justice Hurtless Breaks. Arm It In Rags, A Pigmy's Straw Does Pierce It.