O Thou, The Drink Of Gods And

None Pities Him That Is In The Snare, Who Warned Before, Would Not Beware.

Tears Are The Noble Language Of Eyes, And When True Love Of Words Is Destitute. The Eye By Tears Speak, While The Tongue Is Mute.

No, Not Jove Himselfe, At One Time, Can Be Wise And Love.

What Is A Kiss? Why This, As Some Approve: The Sure, Sweet Cement, Glue, And Lime Of Love.

Tis Hard To Find God, But To Comprehend Him, As He Is, Is Labour Without End.