Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.

Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book

Love's mysteries in souls do grow,
But yet the body is his book.

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love.

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent.

...but come bad chance
And wee joyne to it our strength
And wee teach it art and length
It selfe o'er us to advance.