Be Not Afeard; The Isle

Men Prize The Thing Ungained More Than It Is.

Thou Unfit For Any Place But Hell.

My Charity Is Outrage, Life My Shame; And In That Shame Still Live My Sorrow's Rage!

Then To Silvia Let Us Sing That Silvia Is Excelling. She Excels Each Mortal Thing Upon The Dull Earth Dwelling.

Oh, How This Spring Of Love Resembleth, The Uncertain Glory Of An April Day, Which Now Shows All Beauty Of The Sun, And By And By A Cloud Takes All Away