Our torments also may in length of time
Become our Elements.

A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames
No light; but rather darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe

Is it true, O Christ in heaven, that the highest suffer the most?
That the strongest wander furthest and most hopelessly are lost?
That the mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain?
That the anguish of the singer makes the sweetness of the strain?

Rhetoric . . . To which poetry would be made subsequent, or indeed rather precedent, as being less subtle and fine, but more simple, sensuous and passionate.

Our state cannot be severed, we are one,
One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.

I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words.