The Mr. Absent, And The House Dead.

To Write A Verse Or Two Is All The Praise That I Can Raise.

Councell Breakes Not The Head.

Sorrow Was All My Soul; I Scarce Believed, Till Grief Did Tell Me Roundly, That I Lived.

A Morning Sunne, And A Wine-bred Child, And A Latin-bred Woman, Seldome End Well.

He That Will Enter Into Paradise, Must Have A Good Key.