souls descend

    to affections, and to faculties,

    hich sense may reach and apprehend,

    Else a great prince in prison lies.

    to our bodies turn  so

    eak men on love reveald may look ;

    Loves mysteries in souls do grow,

    But yet the body is his book.

    And if some lover, such as we,

    his dialogue of one,

    Let ill mark us, he shall see

    Small co bodies gone.

    I LONG to talk ,

    he god of love was born.

    I cannot t ,

    Sunk so loo love one which did scorn.

    But since tiny,

    And t vice-nature, custom, lets it be,

    I must love  loves not me.

    Sure, t not so much,

    Nor ised it.

    But ouch,

    ly to fit

    Actives to passives. Correspondency

    Only   cannot be

    Love, till I love her, who loves me.

    But every modern god end

    prerogative as far as Jove.

    to rage, to lust, to e to, to commend,

    All is the god of love.

    O ! yranny

    to ungod t could not be

    I s me.

    Rebel and at too, why murmur I,

    As t t t love could do?

    Love mig try

    A deeper plague, to make oo ;

    o see.

    Falsee ; and t must be,

    If she whom I love, should love me.