I Hold The World But As The

The Love Of Wicked Men Converts To Fear; That Fear To Hate, And Hate Turns One Or Both To Worthy Danger And Deserved Death.

And Be These Juggling Friends No More Believ'd, That Palter With Us In A Double Sense; That Keep The Word Of Promise To Our Ear And Break It To Our Hope.

Till All Grace Be In One Woman, One Woman Shall Not Come In My Grace.

O, Pardon Me, Thou Bleeding Piece Of Earth, / That I Am Meek And Gentle With These Butchers!

Blessings Of Your Heart, You Brew Good Ale.