The First Act's Doubtful, But We Say,

Her Eyes The Glowworm Lend Thee, The Shooting Stars Attend Thee; And The Elves Also, Whose Little Eyes Glow Like The Sparks Of Fire, Befriend Thee.

My Soul I'll Pour Into Thee.

Let's Live With That Small Pittance Which We Have; Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.

In Sober Mornings Do Not Thou Rehearse The Holy Incantation Of A Verse

Whatever Comes, Let's Be Content Withal: Among God's Blessings There Is No One Small.