And thoughe the dystance of the place Doe severe us in twayne, Yet shall my harte thy harte imbrace

Why, noble lorde, you knowe Disgrace is ever like the greate assay Which turnes imperfytt mettalls into fume And shewes pure gould to have an absolute valewe Because it styll remayns unchaungable Disgrace can never scarre a good mans sence, Tys an undaunted harte shoes Innocence: Shame in a guyltie man (like wounds & scratches In a corrupted fleshe) may ranckell deepe, Good mens dishonors heale before they weepe.