I Am A Little World Made Cunningly.

I Observe The Physician With The Same Diligence As The Disease.

If Poisonous Minerals, And If That Tree, Whose Fruit Threw Death On Else Immortal Us, If Lecherous Goats, If Serpents Envious Cannot Be Damned; Alas; Why Should I Be?

To Rage, To Lust, To Write To, To Commend, All Is The Purlieu Of The God Of Love.

I Sing The Progress Of A Deathless Soul.

Christ Beats His Drum, But He Does Not Press Men; Christ Is Served With Voluntaries.