Whoever Loves, If He Do Not Propose

If They Be Two, They Are Two So As Stiff Twin Compasses Are Two, Thy Soul The Fixt Foot, Makes No Show To Move, But Doth, If The Other Do.

What If This Present Were The World's Last Night?

And When A Whirl-winde Hath Blowne The Dust Of The Churchyard Into The Church, And Man Sweeps Out The Dust Of The Church Into The Church-yard, Who Will Undertake To Sift Those Dusts Again, And To Pronounce, This Is The Patrician, This Is The Noble Flower, And This The Yeomanly, This The Plebian Bran.

Then Love Is Sin, And Let Me Sinful Be.

That Thou Remember Them, Some Claim As Debt; I Think It Mercy, If Thou Wilt Forget.