I Can Give The Loser Leave To

On The Bat’s Back I Do Fly After Summer Merrily.

But We Have Reason To Cool Our Raging Motions, Our Carnal Stings, Our Unbitted Lusts; Whereof I Take This That You Call Love To Bea Sect Or Scion.... It Is Merely A Lust Of The Blood And A Permission Of The Will.

We May Outrun By Violent Swiftness And Lose By Over-running.

The Peace Of Heaven Is Theirs That Lift Their Swords, In Such A Just And Charitable War.

Winding Up Days With Toil And Nights With Sleep.