So In A Voice, So In A

No Spring Nor Summer Beauty Hath Such Grace As I Have Seen In One Autumnal Face.

More Than Kisses, Letters Mingle Souls.

But I Do Nothing Upon Myself, And Yet I Am My Own Executioner.

Doth Not A Man Die Even In His Birth? The Breaking Of Prison Is Death, And What Is Our Birth, But A Breaking Of Prison?

Sleep With Clean Hands, Either Kept Clean All Day By Integrity Or Washed Clean At Night By Repentance.