A Careless Shoe String, In Whose Tie

To The Virgins, To Make Much Of Time Gather Ye Rose-buds While Ye May, Old Time Is Still A-flying; And This Same Flower That Smiles Today, Tomorrow Will Be Dying. The Glorious Lamp Of Heaven, The Sun, The Higher He’s A-getting, The Sooner Will His Race Be Run, And Nearer He Is To Setting. That Age Is Best Which Is The First, When Youth And Blood Are Warmer; But Being Spent, The Worse, And Worst Times Still Succeed The Former. Then Be Not Coy, But Use Your Time, And While You May, Go Marry; For Having Lost But Once Your Prime, You May For Ever Tarry.

The First Act's Doubtful, But We Say, It Is The Last Commends The Play.

Wealth Cannot Make A Life, But Love.

Like Will To Like, Each Creature Loves His Kind.

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