FRANCIS QUARLES

E’en like two little bank-dividing brooks, That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, And having ranged and search’d a thousand nooks, Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, Where in a greater current they conjoin: So I my Best-belovèd’s am; so He is mine. E’en so we met; and after long pursuit, E’en so we joined; we both became entire; No need for either to renew a suit, For I was flax, and He was flames of fire: Our firm-united souls did more than twine; So I my Best-belovèd’s am; so He is mine. If all those glittering Monarchs, that command The servile quarters of this earthly ball, Should tender in exchange their shares of land, I would not change my fortunes for them all: Their wealth is but a counter to my coin: The world’s but theirs; but my Belovèd’s mine.

MY soul, sit thou a patient looker-on; Judge not the play before the play is done: Her plot hath many changes; every day Speaks a new scene; the last act crowns the play.