Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
I will be brief. Your noble son is mad.
I'll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms in the earth, and deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book!
Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.