The Rich Have No More

Despair Is The Damp Of Hell, As Joy Is The Serenity Of Heaven.

I Am Two Fools, I Know, For Loving, And For Saying So.

Sweetest Love, I Do Not Go, For Weariness Of Thee, Nor In Hope The World Can Show A Fitter Love For Me; But Since That I Must Die At Last, 'tis Best, To Use My Self In Jest Thus By Feign'd Deaths To Die.

Nothing But Man Of All Envenomed Things, Doth Work Upon Itself, With Inborn Stings.

I Throw Myself Down In My Chamber, And I Call And Invite God And His Angels Thither.