All occasions invite His mercies, and all times are His seasons.
Who knows his virtues name or place, hath none.
That soul that can reflect upon itself, consider itself, is more than so.
One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.
Full nakedness! All my joys are due to thee, as souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, to taste whole joys.