Of The Smells, Bread; Of The Tastes,

Rise, Heart; Thy Lord Is Risen. Sing His Praise Without Delays, Who Takes Thee By The Hand, That Thou Likewise With Him Mayst Rise: That, As His Death Calcined Thee To Dust, His Life May Make Thee Gold, And, Much More, Just.

Though You Rise Early, Yet The Day Comes At His Time, And Not Till Then.

When All Men Have What Belongs To Them, It Cannot Bee Much. [when All Men Have What Belongs To Them, It Cannot Be Much.]

Hee That Wipes The Childs Nose, Kisseth The Mothers Cheeke.

He Puls With A Long Rope, That Waits For Anothers Death.