A Poore Beauty Finds More Lovers Then

The Scalded Head Feares Cold Water.

Rise, Heart; Thy Lord Is Risen. Sing His Praise Without Delays, Who Takes Thee By The Hand, That Thou Likewise With Him Mayst Rise: That, As His Death Calcined Thee To Dust, His Life May Make Thee Gold, And, Much More, Just.

One Slumber Finds Another.

Every Bees Hony Is Sweet.

A Feather In Hand Is Better Then A Bird In The Ayre.