Feare not mee, for boathe at sea and land I was ever a goodd marksman.

More timorous then wise, as I supposed, (For love so hardned me feare was my slave) Did ominate such likelie ill to me If I went forward, that with much enforcement Of what might chance he drave me to retreat.

It is for you afarre off to adore it, And not to reach at it with sawsie hands: Feare is the Love that's due to God and Princes.

My feares become my hopes; O would I might.