A Beane In Liberty Is Better Then

In Doing We Learne. [in Doing We Learn.]

Shall I, To Please Another Wine-sprung Minde, Lose All Mine Own? God Hath Giv'n Me A Measure Short Of His Can And Body; Must I Find A Pain In That, Wherein He Finds A Pleasure?

No Hair So Small But Hath His Shadow.

Feare, The Bedle Of The Law.

Sorrow Was All My Soul; I Scarce Believed, Till Grief Did Tell Me Roundly, That I Lived.