To Know And Feel All This And

Solitude Is A Torment Which Is Not Threatened In Hell Itself.

The Heavens Rejoice In Motion, Why Should I Abjure My So Much Loved Variety.

Poor Intricated Soul! Riddling, Perplexed, Labyrinthical Soul!

Men Are Sponges, Which, To Pour Out, Receive; Who Know False Play, Rather Than Lose, Deceive. For In Best Understandings Sin Began, Angels Sinn'd First, Then Devils, And Then Man. Only Perchance Beasts Sin Not ; Wretched We Are Beasts In All But White Integrity.

O How Feeble Is Man's Power, That If Good Fortune Fall, Cannot Add Another Hour, Nor A Lost Hour Recall!