What Is Light, If Sylvia Be Not

Fit For The Mountains And The Barbarous Caves, Where Manners Ne'er Were Preached.

In Thy Face I See The Map Of Honour, Truth And Loyalty.

Be Lion-mettled, Proud, And Take No Care Who Chafes, Who Frets, Or Where Conspirers Are!

Quote: What Angel Wakes Me From My Flowery Bed?

I Pray You, In Your Letters, When You Shall These Unlucky Deeds Relate, Speak Of Me As I Am; Nothing Extenuate, Nor Set Down Aught In Malice. Then Must You Speak Of One That Loved Not Wisely But Too Well; Of One Not Easily Jealous, But Being Wrought, Perplexed In The Extreme. . .