And Swear No Where Lives A Woman

I Wonder, By My Troth, What Thou And I Did, Till We Lov'd?

Solitude Is A Torment Which Is Not Threatened In Hell Itself.

In Heaven It Is Always Autumn.

If They Be Two, They Are Two So As Stiff Twin Compasses Are Two, Thy Soul The Fixt Foot, Makes No Show To Move, But Doth, If The Other Do.

The Rich Have No More Of The Kingdom Of Heaven Than They Have Purchased Of The Poor By Their Alms.