It's An Ill Councell That Hath No

No Church-yard Is So Handsom, That A Man Would Desire Straight To Bee Buried There. [no Churchyard Is So Handsome That A Man Would Desire Straight To Be Buried There.]

When God Is Made The Master Of A Family, He Disorders The Disorderly.

Listen, Sweet Dove, Unto My Song, And Spread Thy Golden Wings In Me; Hatching My Tender Heart So Long, Till It Get Wing, And Flie Away With Thee.

Let Thy Mind Still Be Bent, Still Plotting, Where, And When, And How Thy Business May Be Done. Slackness Breeds Worms; But The Sure Traveller, Though He Alights Sometimes Still Goeth On.

Wee Know Not Who Lives Or Dies.