The World In All Doth But Two

As Lines, So Loves Oblique, May Well Themselves In Every Angle Greet; But Ours, So Truly Parallel, Though Infinite, Can Never Meet.

How Vainly Men Themselves Amaze To Win The Palm, The Oak, Or Bays; And Their Uncessant Labours See Crown'd From Some Single Herb Or Tree. Whose Short And Narrow Verged Shade Does Prudently Their Toils Upbraid; While All Flow'rs And All Trees Do Close To Weave The Garlands Of Repose.

This Indigested Vomit Of The Sea,fell To The Dutch By Just Propriety.

So Much One Man Can Do That Does Both Act And Know.

Had We But World Enough, And Time, This Coyness, Lady, Were No Crime.