Humble we must be, if to heaven we go; High is the roof there, but the gate is low.
What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun.
I do love I know not what; Sometimes this, and sometimes that.
My soul I'll pour into thee.