Who Knows His Virtues Name Or Place,

Between Cowardice And Despair, Valour Is Gendred.

. . . Change Is The Nursery Of Musicke, Joy, Life And Eternity.

That Subtle Knot Which Makes Us Man So Must Pure Lovers Souls Descend T Affections, And To Faculties, Which Sense May Reach And Apprehend, Else A Great Prince In Prison Lies.

Yet Nothing Can To Nothing Fall, Nor Any Place Be Empty Quite; Therefore I Think My Breast Hath All Those Pieces Still, Though They Be Not Unite; And Now, As Broken Glasses Show A Hundred Lesser Faces, So My Rags Of Heart Can Like, Wish, And Adore, But After One Such Love, Can Love No More.

Ask Not For Whom The Bell Tolls; It Tolls For Thee