If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two, Thy soul the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do.

But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we lov'd?

There is no health; physicians say that we, at best, enjoy but neutrality.

Goe and catche a falling starre, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me, where all past yeares are, Or who cleft the Divel's foot. Teach me to hear Mermaides' singing, Or to keep of envies stinging, And finde What winde Serves to advance an honest minde.

For love all love of other sights controls and makes one little room an everywhere

Between these two, the denying of sins, which we have done, and the bragging of sins, which we have not done, what a space, what a compass is there, for millions of millions of sins!