A Countenance More In Sorrow Than In

A Hand As Fruitful As The Land That Feeds Us; His Dew Falls Everywhere.

A Man I Am Cross'd With Adversity.

Crowns Have Their Compass-length Of Days Their Date- Triumphs Their Tomb-felicity, Her Fate- Of Nought But Earth Can Earth Make Us Partaker, But Knowledge Makes A King Most Like His Maker.

Good Friend For Jesus Sake Forbeare, To Digg The Dust Encloased Heare! Blest Be The Man That Spares Thes Stones, And Curst Be He That Moves My Bones.

So Full Of Artless Jealousy Is Guilt, It Spills Itself In Fearing To Be Spilt.