I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain

We Will Meet; And There We May Rehearse Most Obscenely And Courageously.

Care Is No Cure, But Rather Corrosive, For Things That Are Not To Be Remedied.

Charity Itself Fulfills The Law. And Who Can Sever Love From Charity?

Heaven Would That She These Gifts Should Have, And I To Live And Die Her Slave.

The Brightness Of Her Cheek Would Shame Those Stars As Daylight Doth A Lamp; Her Eyes In Heaven Would Through The Airy Region Stream So Bright That Birds Would Sing, And Think It Were Not Night.