Friends Are Ourselves.

...whatever Dies Was Not Mixed Equally, If Our Two Loves Be One Or Thou And I Love So Alike That None Can Slacken, None Can Die.

Between Cowardice And Despair, Valour Is Gendred.

Send Home My Long Strayed Eyes To Me, Which (oh) Too Long Have Dwelt On Thee.

All Mankind Is One Volume. When One Man Dies, A Chapter Is Not Torn Out Of The Book, But Translated Into A Better Language. And Every Chapter Must Be Translated. God Employs Several Translators; Some Pieces Are Translated By Age, Some By Sickness, Some By War, Some By Justice. But God's Hand Shall Bind Up All Our Scattered Leaves Again For That Library Where Every Book Shall Live Open To One Another

That Thou Remember Them, Some Claim As Debt; I Think It Mercy, If Thou Wilt Forget.