Affliction Is A Treasure, And Scarce Any

This Extasie Doth Unperplex (we Said) And Tell Us What We Love, Wee See By This, It Was Not Sexe, Wee See, We Saw Not What Did Move: But As All Severall Soules Contain Mixture Of Things, They Know Not What, Love, These Mixt Souls, Doth Mixe Againe. Loves Mysteries In Soules Doe Grow, But Yet The Body Is His Booke.

And Swear No Where Lives A Woman True, And Fair.

It Is Too Little To Call Man A Little World; Except God, Man Is A Diminutive To Nothing.

I Throw Myself Down In My Chamber, And I Call And Invite God And His Angels Thither.

Die Not, Poore Death, Nor Yet Canst Thou Kill Me.