The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths.

When I Waked, I Cried To Dream Again

There's Nothing Ill Can Dwell In Such A Temple. If The Ill Spirit Have So Fair A House, Good Things Will Strive To Dwell With't

That Is My Home Of Love: If I Have Ranged, Like Him That Travels I Return Again, Just To The Time, Not With The Time Exchanged.

Two Loves I Have, Of Comfort And Despair, Which Like Two Spirits Do Suggest Me Still: The Better Angel Is A Man Right Fair, The Worser Spirit A Woman Coloured Ill.

All Fancy-sick She Is And Pale Of Cheer, With Sighs Of Love, That Costs The Fresh Blood Dear.