All Whom War, Dearth, Age, Agues, Tyrannies,

Nature Hath No Goal Though She Hath Law.

When I Died Last, And, Dear, I Die As Often As From Thee I Go Though It Be But An Hour Ago, And Lovers' Hours Be Full Eternity.

Oh Do Not Die, For I Shall Hate All Women So, When Thou Art Gone.

Poetry Is A Counterfeit Creation, And Makes Things That Are Not, As Though They Were

Whoever Loves, If He Do Not Propose The Right True End Of Love, He's One That Goes To Sea For Nothing But To Make Him Sick.