I'll Make My Heaven In

Is Love A Tender Thing? It Is Too Rough, Too Rude, Too Boisterous, And It Pricks Like Thorn.

What Must Be Shall Be.

Love's Not Time's Fool, Though Rosy Lips And Cheeks Within His Bending Sickle's Compass Come.

I’ll Look To Like, If Looking Liking Move; But No More Deep Will I Endart Mine Eye Than Your Consent Gives Strength To Make It Fly.

Be Just, And Fear Not. Let All The Ends Thou Aim'st At Be Thy Country's, Thy God's And Truth's.