Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,No touch of bashfulness?

I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell And gave him what becomed love I might, Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.

Can it be That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary And pitch our evils there?

Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.

Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame Sits mocking in our plumes.

He was not born to shame. Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honor may be crowned Sole monarch of the universal earth.