O Hell! To Choose Love With Another's

Tis Mad Idolatry To Make The Service Greater Than The God.

When A Man's Verses Cannot Be Understood, Nor A Man's Good Wit Seconded With The Forward Child Understanding, It Strikes A Man More Dead Than A Great Reckoning In A Little Room. Truly, I Would The Gods Had Made Thee Poetical.

Get Thee Glass Eyes, And Like A Scurvy Politician, Seem To See The Things Thou Dost Not.

Scratching Could Not Make It Worse, An't Were Such A Face As Yours Were.

He's Of The Colour Of The Nutmeg. And Of The Heat Of The Ginger.... He Is Pure Air And Fire; And The Dull Elements Of Earth And Water Never Appear In Him, But Only In Patient Stillness While His Rider Mounts Him; He Is Indeed A Horse, And All Other Jades You May Call Beasts.