Can There Be Worse Sickness,

If They Be Two, They Are Two So As Stiff Twin Compasses Are Two, Thy Soul The Fixt Foot, Makes No Show To Move, But Doth, If The Other Do.

I Long To Talk With Some Old Lover's Ghost, Who Died Before The God Of Love Was Born.

Love Built On Beauty, Soon As Beauty, Dies.

Keep Us, Lord, So Awake In The Duties Of Our Calling That We May Sleep In Thy Peace And Wake In Thy Glory.

Lust-bred Diseases Rot Thee.