The Corne Hides It Self In The

The Charges Of Building And Making Of Gardens Are Unknowne.

He That Hath Children, All His Morsels Are Not His Owne.

Play Not For Gain, But Sport. Who Plays For More Than He Can Lose With Pleasure, Stakes His Heart; Perhaps His Wife's Too, And Whom She Hath Bore.

Sweet Day, So Cool, So Calm, So Bright, / The Bridal Of The Earth And Sky.

I Had Rather Ride On An Ass That Carries Me Than A Horse That Throws Me.