A Holy Habit Clenseth Not A Foule

Shall I, To Please Another Wine-sprung Minde, Lose All Mine Own? God Hath Giv'n Me A Measure Short Of His Can And Body; Must I Find A Pain In That, Wherein He Finds A Pleasure?

No Hair So Small But Hath His Shadow.

He That Gains Well And Spends Well Needs No Count Book.

All Things Require Skill But An Appetite.

To Whirle The Eyes Too Much Shewes A Kites Braine.