It Is An Active Flame That Fliesfirst

Feed Him Ye Must, Whose Food Fills You. And That This Pleasure Is Like Raine, Not Sent Ye For To Drowne Your Paine, But For To Make It Spring Againe.

Outdid The Meat, Outdid The Frolic Wine.

Temptations Hurt Not, Though They Have Accesse; Satan O'ercomes None But By Willingnesse.

You Say To Me-wards Your Affection's Strong; Pray Love Me Little, So You Love Me Long.

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