Friends Are Ourselves.

I Find No Abhorring In My Appetite.

That Subtle Knot Which Makes Us Man So Must Pure Lovers Souls Descend T Affections, And To Faculties, Which Sense May Reach And Apprehend, Else A Great Prince In Prison Lies.

As Soon As There Was Two There Was Pride.

Love's Mysteries In Souls Do Grow, But Yet The Body Is His Book.

To Roam Giddily, And Be Everywhere But At Home, Such Freedom Doth A Banishment Become.