Thy clothes are all the soul thou hast

Of all the paths lead to a woman's love Pity's the straightest.

Death hath so many doors to let out life.

Then, everlasting Love, restrain thy will; 'Tis god-like to have power, but not to kill.

Let's meet and either do or die.

Oh, woman, perfect woman! what distraction Was meant to mankind when thou wast made a devil! What an inviting hell invented.

'Tis a word that's quickly spoken, Which being restrained, a heart is broken.