Evermore Thanks, The Exchequer Of The Poor

Love Denied Blights The Soul We Owe To God.

Lady, You Know No Rules Of Charity, Which Renders Good For Bad, Blessings For Curses.

The Tempter Or The Tempted, Who Sins Most? Ha! Not She: Nor Doth She Tempt: But It Is I That, Lying By The Violet In The Sun, Do As The Carrion Does, Not As The Flower, Corrupt With Virtuous Season.

He That Is Robbed, Not Wanting What Is Stolen, Him Not Know T, And He's Not Robbed At All.

He's Of The Colour Of The Nutmeg. And Of The Heat Of The Ginger.... He Is Pure Air And Fire; And The Dull Elements Of Earth And Water Never Appear In Him, But Only In Patient Stillness While His Rider Mounts Him; He Is Indeed A Horse, And All Other Jades You May Call Beasts.