This Life, which seems so fair, Is like a bubble blown up in the air By sporting children's breath, Who chase it every where - William Drummond of Hawthornden

Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move?
Is this the justice which on Earth we find?
Is this that firm decree which all doth bind?
Are these your influences, Powers above?

If two pilgrims, which have wandered some few miles together, have a heart's grief when they are near to part, what must the sorrow be at the parting of two so loving friends and never-loathing lovers as the body and the soul?

This is the morn should bring unto this grove
My love, to hear and recompense my love.