I Wonder, By My Troth, What Thou

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

If Poisonous Minerals, And If That Tree, Whose Fruit Threw Death On Else Immortal Us, If Lecherous Goats, If Serpents Envious Cannot Be Damned; Alas; Why Should I Be?

Love's Mysteries In Souls Do Grow, But Yet The Body Is His Book.

Licence My Roving Hands, And Let Them Go Before, Behind, Between, Above, Below.

As God Loves A Cheerful Giver, So He Also Loves A Cheerful Taker. Who Takes Hold Of His Gifts With A Glad Heart.