My matter is an endless question.

I assure you I had said _Requiesce anima mea_; but I now am otherwise put to my psalter; _Nolite confidere_.

I dare go no further.

Her Majesty had by set speech more than once assured me of her intention to call me to her service, which I could not understand but of the place I had been named to.

And now whether _invidus homo hoc fecit_; or whether my matter must be an appendix to my Lord of Essex suit; or whether her Majesty, pretending to prove my ability, meaneth but to take advantage of some errors which, like enough, at one time or other I may commit; or what is it?
but her Majesty is not ready to despatch it.