If Ever Wife Was Happy In A

Satan, That Great Angler, Hath His Sundry Baits For Sundry Tempers Of Men, Which They All Catch Greedily At, But Few Perceive The Hook Till It Be Too Late.

My Age I Will Not Once Lament, / But Sing, My Time So Near Is Spent.

Sweet Words Are Like Honey, A Little May Refresh, But Too Much Gluts The Stomach.

We Must, Therefore, Be Here As Strangers And Pilgrims, That We May Plainly Declare That We Seek A City Above.

What To My Saviour Shall I Givewho Freely Hath Done This For Me?i'll Serve Him Here Whilst I Shall Liveand Loue Him To Eternity