The astrologer who spells the stars, mistakes his globes and in her bright eye interprets heaven's physiognomies. — John Cleveland Copy Share Image
My tears will keep no channel, know no laws to guide their streams, but like the waves, their cause, run with disturbance till they… — John Cleveland Copy Share Image
Love melts the rigor which the rocks have bred; a flint will break upon a feather bed. — John Cleveland Copy Share Image
Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom nor forced him wander, but confine him home. — John Cleveland Copy Share Image
The astrologer who spells the stars, mistakes his globes and in her bright eye interprets heaven's physiognomies. — John Cleveland Copy Share Image
I am no Poet here; my pen's the spout where the rain water of my eyes run out. — John Cleveland Copy Share Image
