Sleep Is Pain's Easiest Salve

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.

Other Men's Crosses Are Not My Crosses.

Festive Alcohol Sometimes Leads To An Excess Of Honesty.

And To 'scape Stormy Days, I Choose An Everlasting Night.

Send Home My Long Strayed Eyes To Me, Which (oh) Too Long Have Dwelt On Thee.