For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love.
As peace is of all goodness, so war is an emblem, a hieroglyphic, of all misery.
Dull sublunary lovers' love (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove Those things which elemented it.
Poor intricated soul! Riddling, perplexed, labyrinthical soul!
Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
The Phoenix riddle hath more wit By us, we two being one, are it. So to one neutral thing both sexes fit, We die and rise the same, and prove Mysterious by this love.