He That Sings On Friday, Will Weepe

The Tooth-ach Is More Ease Then To Deale With Ill People.

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?

To Fine Folkes A Little Ill Finely Wrapt.

He That Looseth Is Marchant As Well As He That Gaines.

A Gentle Heart Is Tied With An Easy Thread.