I Desire You In Friendship,

Were't Not For Laughing, I Should Pity Him.

The Dear Father Would With His Daughter Speak, Commands Her Service; Are They Inform'd Of This?

Sin From Thy Lips? O Trespass Sweetly Urged! Give Me My Sin Again.

Tongues I'll Hang On Every Tree That Shall Civil Sayings Show. . . .

So Holy And So Perfect Is My Love, And I In Such A Poverty Of Grace, That I Shall Think It A Most Plenteous Crop To Glean The Broken Ears After The Man That The Main Harvest Reaps.