You know not whether it was his wisdom or his fear.
He had none:His flight was madness: when our actions do not,Our fears do make us traitors. .
Wisdom! To leave his wife, to leave his babes,His mansion and his titles in a place from whence himself does fly? He loves us not;He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren,The most diminutive of birds, will fight,Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.All is the fear and nothing is the love;As little is the wisdom, where the fligh so runs against all reason. .
My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband, he is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows the fits o' the season. I dare not speak much further; but cruel are the times, when we are traitors and do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour from what we fear, yet know not what we fear,but float upon a wild and violent sea each way and move. I take my leave of you: shall not be long, but I'll be here again: things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward to what they were before. My pretty cousin,Blessing upon you!