The Wind In Ones Face Makes One

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

Sinnes Are Not Knowne Till They Bee Acted.

Count Not Fowre Except You Have Them In A Wallett.

In War, Hunting, And Love, Men For One Pleasure A Thousand Griefes Prove.

He Puls With A Long Rope, That Waits For Anothers Death.