Man hath weaved out a net, and this net throwne upon the Heavens, and now they are his own.
That soul that can reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so.
Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.
Since you would save none of me, I bury some of you.
I am two fools, I know, For loving, and for saying so.
Sleep is pain's easiest salve