The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun.

My soul I'll pour into thee.

Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.

Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.

Roses at first were white, Till thy co'd not agree, Whether my Sapho's breast, Or they more white sho'd be.

Here a pretty Baby lies Sung asleep with Lullabies: Pray be silent, and not stirre The easie earth that covers her.

What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.