What Is A Kiss? Why This, As

No, Not Jove Himselfe, At One Time, Can Be Wise And Love.

I Do Love I Know Not What; Sometimes This, And Sometimes That.

When The Artless Doctor Sees No One Hope, But Of His Fees, And His Skill Runs On The Lees; Sweet Spirit, Comfort Me! When His Potion And His Pill, Has, Or None, Or Little Skill, Meet For Nothing, But To Kill; Sweet Spirit, Comfort Me!

T Is The Will That Makes The Action Good Or Ill.

The Body Is The Soul's Poor House Or Home, Whose Ribs The Laths Are And Whose Flesh The Loam.