Hee That Keepes His Owne Makes Warre.

He Cannot Be Vertuous That Is Not Rigorous.

Sweet Rose, Whose Hue, Angry And Brave, Bids The Rash Gazer Wipe His Eye, Thy Root Is Even In The Grave, And Thou Must Die.

Hee That Bewailes Himselfe Hath The Cure In His Hands.

Of The Smells, Bread; Of The Tastes, Salt.

He That Hath Love In His Brest, Hath Spurres In His Sides.