They That Stand High Have Many Blasts

Prosperity's The Very Bond Of Love.

Good Hay, Sweet Hay, Hath No Fellow.

To You Your Father Should Be As A God; One That Composed Your Beauties, Yea, And One To Whom You Are But As A Form In Wax, By Him Imprinted, And Within His Power To Leave The Figure Or Disfigure It.

He Hath Borne Himself Beyond The Promise Of His Age, Doing, In The Figure Of A Lamb, The Feats Of A Lion.

A Peace Is Of The Nature Of A Conquest; For Then Both Parties Nobly Are Subdued, And Neither Party Loser.