Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.

Take me to you, imprison me, for I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free, nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

I will not look upon the quickening sun, But straight her beauty to my sense shall run; The air shall note her soft, the fire most pure; Water suggest her clear, and the earth sure; Time shall not lose our passages.

That which attempts to elevate the ugly to the level of beauty becomes neither; but an obscenity.

Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.

More than kisses, letters mingle souls.

Filled with her love, may I be rather grown Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.