Patch Up Thine Old Body For Heaven.

That Which I Would Discover The Law Of Friendship Bids Me To Conceal.

The Best Is Yet To Come.

Free From Gross Passion Or Of Mirth Of Anger Constant Spirit, Not Swerving With The Blood, Garnish'd And Deck'd In Modest Compliment, Not Working With The Eye Without The Ear, And But In Purged Judgement Trusting Neither? Such And So Finely Bolted Didst Thou Seem.

Which Can Say More Than This Rich Praise, That You Alone Are You?

Give Me My Sin Again.