Enjoyment Always Has A Spoiling, Otherwise It

Oh Do Not Die, For I Shall Hate All Women So, When Thou Art Gone.

Lust-bred Diseases Rot Thee.

Friends Are Ourselves.

There Is Nothing That God Hath Established In A Constant Course Of Nature, And Which Therefore Is Done Every Day, But Would Seem A Miracle, And Exercise Our Admiration, If It Were Done But Once.

From Rest And Sleep, Which But Thy Pictures Be, Much Pleasure, Then From Thee Much More, Must Flow, And Soonest Our Best Men With Thee Do Go, Rest Of Their Bones, And Soul's Delivery.