One Graine Fills Not A Sacke, But

If You Could Runne, As You Drinke, You Might Catch A Hare.

There Is An Hour Wherein A Man Might Be Happy All His Life, Could He Find It.

Mony Refused Looseth Its Brightnesse.

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.

My House, My House, Though Thou Art Small, Thou Art To Me The Escurial.