Nymph, In Thy Orisons Be All My

This Goodly Frame, The Earth, Seems To Me A Sterile Promontory.

'tis One Thing To Be Tempted, Another Thing To Fall.

Exceeds Man's Might: That Dwells With The Gods Above.

For We, Which Now Behold These Present Days, Have Eyes To Wonder, But Lack Tongues To Praise.

Alas, Their Love May Be Call'd Appetite. No Motion Of The Liver, But The Palate