That Thou Remember Them, Some Claim As

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

I Am A Little World Made Cunningly.

I Am Two Fools, I Know, For Loving, And For Saying So.

Sweetest Love, I Do Not Go, For Weariness Of Thee, Nor In Hope The World Can Show A Fitter Love For Me; But Since That I Must Die At Last, 'tis Best, To Use My Self In Jest Thus By Feign'd Deaths To Die.

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