The Heavens Rejoice In Motion, Why Should

Love, All Alike, No Season Knows, Nor Clime, Nor Hours, Days, Months, Which Are The Rags Of Time.

Since You Would Save None Of Me, I Bury Some Of You.

This Only Is Charity, To Do All, All That We Can.

Sweetest Love, I Do Not Go, For Weariness Of Thee, Nor In Hope The World Can Show A Fitter Love For Me; But Since That I Must Die At Last, 'tis Best, To Use My Self In Jest Thus By Feign'd Deaths To Die.

My Love Though Silly Is More Brave.