Isabel's Sonnet That She Made in Prison

(Veritas non Quaerit Angulos)

No storm so sharp to rend the little reed,

For seld it breaks, though every way it bend;

The fire may heat, but not consume the flint;

The gold in furnace purer is indeed;

Report, that seld to honour is a friend,

May many lies against true meaning mint,

But yet at last

'Gainst slander's blast

Truth doth the silly sackless soul defend.

Though false reproach seeks honour to distain,

And envy bites the bud though ne'er so pure;

Though lust doth seek to blemish chaste desire,

Yet truth that brooks not falsehood's slanderous stain,

Nor can the spite of envy's wrath endure,

Will try true love from lust in justice fire,

And, maugre all,

Will free from thrall

The guiltless soul that keeps his footing sure.

Where innocence triumpheth in her prime,

And guilt cannot approach the honest mind;

Where chaste intent is free from any miss,

Though envy strive, yet secret-searching time

With piercing insight will the truth outfind,

And make discovery who the guilty is;

For time still tries

The truth from lies,

And God makes open what the world doth blind.

Veritas Temporis filia.