Now, Infidel, I Have You On The

To Wilful Men, The Injuries That They Themselves Procure Must Be Their Schoolmasters.

Verily, I Swear, It Is Better To Be Lowly Born, And Range With Humble Livers In Content, Than To Be Perked Up In A Glistering Grief, And Wear A Golden Sorrow.

To Business That We Love We Rise Betime, And Go To't With Delight.

He Wears The Rose Of Youth Upon Him.

An Old Man, Broken With The Storms Of State, Is Come To Lay His Weary Bones Among Ye; Give Him A Little Earth For Charity!