The Body Is More Drest Then The

God Is At The End, When We Thinke He Is Furthest Off It.

A Little Given Seasonably Excuses A Great Gift.

Hope Is The Poor Man's Bread.

There Come Nought Out Of The Sacke But What Was There.

Ah My Deare God! Though I Am Clean Forgot, Let Me Not Love Thee, If I Love Thee Not.