Her age was bare fifteen when she left England,
Her face a lily and her eyes a flood;
She now must be midway her fifth decade,
A time, I've heard, when subtle changes work
Within the mind. A beauteous soul! O God,
Restore her now, or lift her e'en to thee!
... Take you the packet, and the king's command.
But first your oath. Deceit has sapped my faith
So oft I could believe the devil himself
Wears gown and mitre. Peter des Roches, will you