If I Lose At Play, I Blaspheme;

Old Grandsires Talk Of Yesterday With Sorrow, And For Our Children We Reserve Tomorrow.

As Soon As There Was Two There Was Pride.

Who Are A Little Wise The Best Fools Be.

Poor Intricated Soul! Riddling, Perplexed, Labyrinthical Soul!

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.