It is a principle by nature wrote
In all our understanding, there is not
One art or action but it must tend,
And move from some beginning, to its end.
The soldiers, that wear the honour'd bays
Upon their brows, and glorious trophies raise
To fame on pile of wounds, knew a time when
They suck'd at war: your Muse-inspired men
And of diviner earth, sacred for wit,
Crept out of their first elements to it:
The goodliest harvest had first seed and hope,
Ere it could lade with an enriching crop
The rural team: th'exactest building first

For wantons heede heere wrayed is the thrall,
Of loving wormes, how both they freese and frie,
How sweetest thoughtes are sawst with bitter gall.
How care them cloyes that live in jelousie,
What yll successe stolne marriages ensue,
How forst consentes sield beare a loving hart,
How sugred woordes to[o] late faire ladies rue,
How vaine they strive that lovers seeke to part,
How envious tongues are apt to sowe debate,
How fancie bringes the stoutest mindes in awe,
How lovers wrongde from love do fall to hate,

An aunswere to a Gentlewoman, by love constrained to sue to him whom of late she scorned.

Nie driven to death by raging love, reviv'de by happie meanes,
I smile you seeke that erst you scornd with those your silver streames.
Now time performes, my words prove true, when as I was your thrall,
Your sugred joyes in flowting me would turne to bitter gall.

Else not the name of Goddesse just dame Venus doth deserve,
Unlesse her servauntes shee advaunce, and makes her foes to sterve.
Your scalding sighes, let witnes be, what sorrowes I sustainde,

The lover, wearied with a number of delayes, sues unto his Ladie for pitie, or otherwise her speedie denyall, by death to worke a speedie dispatch of his languishing dayes.

If pitie may prevaile to pearse your hart with ruth,
Sweete maisters, lend your liftning eare to heare your servants truth,
Whose faith hath chose you judge, and jurie if you please;
If not, desart shal trye this cause your deintie mynd to ease.
The whole record is writ for rasing with my teares,
My witnesse is my withered corps, ny famished with feares:

A Sonet, wherin is showne the straunge effectes of love.

In care I joy, my mirth is mov'd by mone,
With flouds of want I weare to ebbe my wo;
Appayd I rest in restlesse griefe to grone,
By fainting hope my friendly hap doth growe:
In waves of bale I bathe in wished blisse,
My wealth in woe, in paine my pleasure is.

But how these hang, if so she search my harme,
These fewe suffice the same to shew (my sweete):
To rayse her joy my selfe I wholy arme,
To freese or fry as she shall deeme it meete,

The Lover attributeth his curelesse wound to chaunce, by loving long.

Long have I lost my libertie,
Alas! through love (long) have I so.
(Long) have I stoode in jeopardie.
In loving (long) through pyning woe,
Whose constant truth long hath ben tryde,
Though (long) his suit hath ben denyde.

My batterie (long) the brasen wall
The cannon shot doth cleane deface,
The longest trees in time doe fall,
Which (long) before bad Boreas base:
The little brooke in running (long)
Doth turne into a river strong.

Dom Diego, a Spaniard, falling in love with faire Genevora, was, in the prime of his fancies, with like love by Genevora friendly acquainted. Afterwards Genevora (else where fancying) had Dom Diego in such disdaine, as still she crost both his suite and service with scorne.

The following verses are found on page 45 of the Diary. They are without title and without comment save the date attached.
Faith, love, hope,
Reach the goal
Through quiet modesty.
What God hates, avoid
To bow down, to suffer, to endure,
Bring us happiness.

What God commands to believe
This no one shall take from me
In spite of all the lack of faith.
What God's word bids us love
That I will daily practice
Throughout my pilgrim's time.

When my time has passed,
Then I find my hopes;
In blessed eternity

Love-born, the child in grace and strength immortal
Increased with years for service of her time;
She came each day to some new wonder-portal,
Thresholds of life and thoughts of things sublime.
Through all the silence of her soul was ringing
The song of life the heart of God was singing.

The stream into the ocean flows unceasing;
All things are greater for renewing strife;
True wealth is spending, using is increasing,

Eve's purple dust sinks to its golden urn
Where in the west, the sun's red banners burn.

The wigwam's smoke that warms the pillared air
Mounts in a shaft to greet the sunset glare;

Soon, on the night is lifted high, afar,
Serene, intense, one iridescent star;

And in the dark is heard a maiden's prayer; —
The heart of Love is listening everywhere.