He Was Not So Much Brain As

So Now I Have Confessed That He Is Thine, And I My Self Am Mortgaged To Thy Will, My Self I'll Forfeit, So That Other Mine, Thou Wilt Restore To Be My Comfort Still.

Absence From Those We Love Is Self From Self - A Deadly Banishment.

Mean And Mighty, Rotting Together, Have One Dust.

I Profess Not Talking: Only This, Let Each Man Do His Best.

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presagers Of My Speaking Breast, Who Plead For Love, And Look For Recompense, More Than That Tongue That More Hath More Expressed.