Where Souls Do Couch On Flowers We'll

Love Is Your Master, For He Masters You; And He That Is So Yoked By A Fool Methinks Should Not Be Chronicled For Wise.

For Youth No Less Becomes The Light And Careless Livery That It Wears, Than Settled Age His Sables, And His Weeds Importing Health And Graveness.

God, The Best Maker Of All Marriages, Combine Your Hearts Into One.

What We Determine We Often Break. Purpose Is But The Slave To Memory.

The Love That Follows Us Sometime Is Our Trouble, Which Still We Thank As Love.