Make Me Immortal With A Kiss.

Love Is Not Ful Of Pittie (as Men Say) But Deaffe And Cruell, Where He Meanes To Pray.

Why This Is Hell, Nor Am I Out Of It: Thinkst Thou That I Who Saw The Face Of God, And Tasted The Eternal Joys Of Heaven, Am Not Tormented With Ten Thousand Hells In Being Deprived Of Everlasting Bliss! . . . When All The World Dissolves, And Every Creature Shall Be Purified, All Places Shall Be Hell That Are Not Heaven.

Hell Strives With Grace For Conquest In My Breast. What Shall I Do To Shun The Snares Of Death?

Was This The Face That Launched A Thousand Ships, And Burnt The Topless Towers Of Ileum?

Come Live With Me And Be My Love, And We Will All The Pleasures Prove, That Valleys, Groves, Hills, And Fields, Woods, Or Steepy Mountain Yields.