Though I Be But Prince Of Wales,

Demand Me Nothing: What You Know, You Know.

O, How Shall Summer's Honey Breath Hold Out Against The Wreckful Siege Of Battering Days, When Rocks Impregnable Are Not So Stout, Nor Gates Of Steel So Strong, But Time Decays?

Make Use Of Time, Let Not Advantage Slip; Beauty Within Itself Should Not Be Wasted: Fair Flowers That Are Not Gather'd In Their Prime Rot And Consume Themselves In Little Time.

Boldness Be My Friend.

Myself Will Straight Aboard, And To The State This Heavy Act With Heavy Heart Relate.