In Doing We Learne. [in Doing We

Praise None Too Much, For All Are Fickle.

Well May Hee Smell Fire, Whose Gowne Burnes.

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?

Hee That Hath Patience Hath Fatt Thrushes For A Farthing.

They That Are Booted Are Not Alwaies Ready.