O, Reason Not The Need!

We Must Love Men, Ere To Us They Will Seem Worthy Of Our Love.

If I Could Write The Beauty Of Your Eyes And In Fresh Numbers Number All Your Graces, The Age To Come Would Say, 'this Poet Lies; Such Heavenly Touches Ne'er Touch'd Earthly Faces.'

A Virtuous And A Christianlike Conclusion-- To Pray For Them That Have Done Scathe To Us.

Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbled Shore, So Do Our Minutes Hasten To Their End; Each Changing Place With That Which Goes Before, In Sequent Toil All Forwards Do Contend.

Wish Chastely, And Love Dearly.