Though I Be But Prince Of Wales,

Tired With All These For Restful Death I Cry, As To Behold Desert A Beggar Born, And Needy Nothing Trimmed In Jollity, And Purest Faith Unhappily Forsworn.

This Is His Uncle's Teaching, This Worcester, Malevolent To You In All Aspects, Which Makes Him Prune Himself And Bristle Up The Crest Of Youth Against Your Dignity.

I Know No Ways To Mince It In Love, But Directly To Say - I Love You

Put Forth Thy Hand, Reach At The Glorious Gold.

Who Is It That Can Tell Me Who I Am?