Thou of men most dear, Welcome to her, that only for thy sake, Hath been content to live: here boldly take My hand in pledg, this hand, that never yet Was given away to any: and but sit Down on this rushy Bank, whilst I go pull Fresh Blossoms from the Boughs, or quickly cull The choicest delicates from yonder Mead, To make thee Chains, or Chaplets, or to spread Under our fainting Bodies, when delight Shall lock up all our senses.

Suspicion is always hardening the cautious, and disgust repelling the delicate.

I never travel with a window open; my health's delicate.