Sick In The World's Regard,

There's Neither Honesty, Manhood, Nor Good Fellowship In Thee.

When Our Actions Do Not, Our Fears Make Us Traitors.

If I For My Opinion Bleed, Opinion Shall Be Surgeon To My Hurt, And Keep Me On The Side Where Still I Am.

Now, My Co-mates And Brothers In Exile, Hath Not Old Custom Made This Life More Sweet Than That Of Painted Pomp? Are Not These Woods More Free From Peril Than The Envious Court?

Awake, Awake, English Nobility! Let Not Sloth Dim Your Horrors New-begot.