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So must pure lovers souls descend
T'affections, and to faculties,
Which sence may reach and apprehend,
Else a great Prince in prison lies,
To our bodies turn we then, that so
Weak men on love reveal'd may look;
Loves mysteries in Souls do grow,
But yet the body is the book,
And if some lover such as we,
Have heard this dialogue of one,
Let him still mark us, he shall see
Small change when we are to bodies grown.
Loves Deity.
I long to talk with some old lovers ghost,
Who dyed before the god of Love was born:
I cannot think that he, who then lov'd most,
Sunk so low, as to love one which did scorn.
But since this god produc'd a destiny,
And that vice-nature custom lets it be;
I must love her that loves not me.
Sure they, which made him god, meant not so much,
Nor he, in his young godhead practis'd it.
But when an even flame two hearts did touch,
His office was indulgently to fit
Actives to Passives, Correspondency
Only his Subject was; it cannot be
Love, till I love her that loves me.
But every modern god will now extend
His vast prerogative as far as Jove,

[CW: To]