If I Dream I Have You, I

Die Not, Poore Death, Nor Yet Canst Thou Kill Me.

That Soul That Can Reflect Upon Itself, Consider Itself, Is More Than So.

Christ Beats His Drum, But He Does Not Press Men; Christ Is Served With Voluntaries.

This Extasie Doth Unperplex (we Said) And Tell Us What We Love, Wee See By This, It Was Not Sexe, Wee See, We Saw Not What Did Move: But As All Severall Soules Contain Mixture Of Things, They Know Not What, Love, These Mixt Souls, Doth Mixe Againe. Loves Mysteries In Soules Doe Grow, But Yet The Body Is His Booke.

Great Sorrows Cannot Speak.