O Heaven! Were Man, But Constant, He

But There Is No Such Man; For, Brother, Men Can Counsel And Speak Comfort To That Grief Which They Themselves Not Feel; But, Tasting It, Their Counsel Turns To Passion, Which Before Would Give Preceptial Medicine To Rage, Fetter Strong Madness In A Silken Thread, Charm Ache With Air And Agony With Words.

Light And Lust Are Deadly Enemies.

Knit Your Hearts With An Unslipping Knot.

But If The While I Think On Thee, Dear Friend, All Losses Are Restored And Sorrows End.

If Wishes Would Prevail With Me, My Purpose Should Not Fail With Me.