Tears Are The Noble Language Of The

Here A Pretty Baby Lies Sung Asleep With Lullabies: Pray Be Silent, And Not Stirre The Easie Earth That Covers Her.

Give House-room To The Best; 'tis Never Known Verture And Pleasure Both To Dwell In One.

Outdid The Meat, Outdid The Frolic Wine.

It Is The End That Crowns Us, Not The Fight.

Tis Hard To Find God, But To Comprehend Him, As He Is, Is Labour Without End.