Thornes Whiten Yet Doe Nothing.

Though The Mastiffe Be Gentile, Yet Bite Him Not By The Lippe.

Little Dogs Start The Hare, The Great Get Her.

Love Makes A Good Eye Squint.

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.

Sundays Observe; Think When The Bells Do Chime, 't Is Angels' Music.