Great Sorrows Cannot Speak.

Wicked Is Not Much Worse Than Indiscreet.

Nature Hath No Goal Though She Hath Law.

Love's Mysteries In Souls Do Grow, But Yet The Body Is His Book.

Come Live With Me, And Be My Love, And We Will Some New Pleasures Prove Of Golden Sands, And Crystal Brooks, With Silken Lines, And Silver Hooks.

I Wonder By My Troth, What Thou, And I Did, Till We Loved? Were We Not Weaned Till Then? But Sucked On Country Pleasures, Childishly? Or Snorted We In The Seven Sleepers' Den?