Despair Is The Damp Of Hell, As

Love Was As Subtly Caught, As A Disease; But Being Got It Is A Treasure Sweet, Which To Defend Is Harder Than To Get: And Ought Not Be Profaned On Either Part, For Though 'tis Got By Chance, 'tis Kept By Art.

My World's Both Parts, And 'o! Both Parts Must Die.

. . . Change Is The Nursery Of Musicke, Joy, Life And Eternity.

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

And What Is So Intricate, So Entangling As Death? Who Ever Got Out Of A Winding Sheet?