Poor Intricated Soul! Riddling, Perplexed, Labyrinthical Soul!

Whilst My Physicians By Their Love Are Grown Cosmographers, And I Their Map, Who Lie Flat On This Bed.

If I Dream I Have You, I Have You, For All Our Joys Are But Fantastical.

At Most, The Greatest Persons Are But Great Wens, And Excrescences; Men Of Wit And Delightful Conversation, But As Morals For Ornament, Except They Be So Incorporated Into The Body Of The World That They Contribute Something To The Sustentation Of The Whole.

I Am Two Fools, I Know, For Loving, And For Saying So.

I Find No Abhorring In My Appetite.