The March Sunne Raises But Dissolves Not.

Hee That Falles Into The Durt, The Longer He Stayes There, The Fowler He Is.

He That Talkes Much Of His Happinesse Summons Griefe.

O What A Sight Were Man, If His Attires Did Alter With His Minde; And Like A Dolphins Skinne, His Clothes Combin'd With His Desires!

There Is More Talke Then Trouble.

Between The Businesse Of Life And The Day Of Death, A Space Ought To Be Interposed.