Yield Not Thy Neck To

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

Are You Up To Your Destiny?

Thus Sometimes Hath The Brightest Day A Cloud; And After Summer Evermore Succeeds Barren Winter, With His Wrathful Nipping Cold: So Cares And Joys Abound, As Seasons Fleet.

The Trust I Have Is In Mine Innocence, And Therefore Am I Bold And Resolute.

Holy, Fair, And Wise Is She; The Heaven Such Grace Did Lend Her, That She Might Admired Be.