Love is infinitely delightful to its object, and the more violent the more glorious. It is infinitely high, nothing can hurt it. And infinitely great in all extremes of beauty and excellency. Excess is its true moderation: Activity its rest: and burning fervency its only refreshment. Nothing is more glorious, yet nothing more humble. Nothing more precious, yet nothing more cheap. Nothing more familiar, yet nothing so inaccessible. Nothing more nice, yet nothing more laborious. Nothing more liberal, yet nothing more covetous. It doth all things for its object's sake, yet it is the most self-ended thing in the whole world; for of all things in nature it can least endure to be displeased. Since therefore it containeth so many miracles it may well contain this one more, that it maketh every one greatest, and among lovers every one is supreme and sovereign.