Travelers Never Did Lie, Though Fools At

Stars, Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light See My Black And Deep Desires.

The Poor World Is Almost Six Thousand Years Old, And In All This Time There Was Not Any Man Died In His Own Person, Videlicet, In A Love-cause.

Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram; The Marigold, That Goes To Bed Wi' The Sun, And With Him Rise Weeping.

If Yon Bethink Yourself Of Any Crime Unreconcil'd As Yet To Heaven And Grace, Solicit For It Straight.

I, Thus Neglecting Worldly Ends, All Dedicated To Closeness And The Bettering Of My Mind.