Sarah

'He is starc mad, who ever says,that he hath been in love an hour, yet not that love so soon decays, but that it in ten less space devour, who will believe me, if i swear, that i have had the plague a year? Who would not laugh at me, if i should say, I saw a flask of powder burn a day? Ah what a trifle is a heart, if once into love's hands it come! All other griefs allow a part, to other griefs, and ask themselves but some, they come to us, but us love draws, he swallows us and never chaws, by him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks die, he is a tyrant pike, our hearts the fry. If' twere not so, what did become of my heart, when i first saw thee? I brought my heart into the room, but from the room, I carried none with me, If it had gone to thee, i know mine would have taught thine heart to show more,At one first blow did shiver it as glass. Yet nothing can nothing fall, nor anyplace be empty quite, therefore I think my breast hath all those pieces still, though they be not unite, and now as broken glasses show, a hundred lesser faces, so My rags of heart can like, wish and adore but after one such love, can love no more.'