If Thou Wouldst Preserve A Sound Body,

Charity Is A Naked Child, Giving Honey To A Bee Without Wings.

Let The Words Of A Virgin, Though In A Good Cause, And To As Good Purpose, Be Neither Violent, Many, Nor First, Nor Last; It Is Less Shame For A Virgin To Be Lost In A Blushing Silence Than To Be Found In A Bold Eloquence.

Rather Do What Is Nothing To The Purpose Than Be Idle; That The Devil May Find Thee Doing. The Bird That Sits Is Easily Shot, When Fliers Scape The Fowler. Idleness Is The Dead Sea That Swallows All The Virtues, And The Self-made Sepulchre Of A Living Man.

Is Not This Lily Pure? What Fuller Can Procure A White So Perfect, Spotless Clear As In This Flower Doth Appear?

Sweet Tastes Have Sour Closes; And He Repents On Thorns That Sleeps In Beds Of Roses.