Many a man lives a burden to the Earth, but a good book is the precious life-blood of a master spirit, imbalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.

Whom hast thou then, or what, to accuse,but heaven's free love dealt equally t'all?

Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou liv'stLive well, how long or short permit to Heaven.

Yet not so strictly hath our Lord impos'd /Labor, as to debar when we need /Refreshment, whether food, or talk between,/ food of the mind, or this sweet intercourse/Of looks and smiles, for smiles from Reason flow,/To brutes denied, and are of Love the food, Love not the lowest end of human life. For not to irksome toil, but to delight/ He made us, and delight to reason join'd.

Imparadis'd in one another's arms.

Freely we serve, Because we freely love, as in our will To love or not; in this we stand or fall.

It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, That woman's love can win, or long inherit; But what it is, hard is to say, Harder to hit.

Such sober certainty of waking bliss.

Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou livest, Live well; how long, or short, permit to Heaven.