Not where I breathe, but where I love, I live;
Not where I love, but where I am, I die.
Hoist up saile while gale doth last,
Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure.
from St. Peter's Complaint. 1595.
May never was the month of love,
For May is full of flowers ;
But rather April, wet by kind,
For love is full of showers.
from Love's Servile Lot.
My mind to me an empire is,
While grace affordeth health.
from Look Home.
O dying souls, behold your living spring;
O dazzled eyes, behold your sun of grace;
Dull ears, attend what word this Word doth bring;
Up, heavy hearts, with joy your joy embrace.
From death, from dark, from deafness, from despair:
This life, this light, this Word, this joy repairs.
from The Nativity of Christ.