Had You The World On Your Chesse-bord,

One Slumber Finds Another.

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.

Go Not For Every Grief To The Physician, Nor For Every Quarrell To The Lawyer, Nor For Every Thirst To The Pot.

Neither Eyes On Letters, Nor Hands In Coffers.

A Tyrant Is Most Tyrant To Himselfe.