That subtle knot which makes us man So must pure lovers souls descend T affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great Prince in prison lies.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below.
Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
How great love is, presence best trial makes, But absence tries how long this love will be.
That thou remember them, some claim as debt; I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.
Thy face is mine eye, and mine is thine.