Neither Eyes On Letters, Nor Hands In

A Hatt Is Not Made For One Shower.

To A Crafty Man, A Crafty And An Halfe.

The Morning Sunne Never Lasts A Day.

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?

Be What Thou Wouldst Seeme To Be.