No princely pomp, no wealthy store, No force to win the
victory, No wily wit to
salve a sore, No shape to feed
each gazing eye; To none of these I
yield as thrall. For why my mind
doth serve for all.
princely, pomp, wealthy, store, force, win, victory, wily, wit
Patience is sorrow's salve.
salve, magna parens.
salve to thy sores, apt words have power to suage The tumours of a
troubl'd mind, And are as Balm to
sores, apt, words, power, mind, Balm, wounds