To A Crazy Ship, All Winds Are

When God Will Punish, Hee Will First Take Away The Understanding.

Giving Is Dead, Restoring Very Sicke.

In Every Countrey The Sun Rises In The Morning. [in Every Country The Sun Rises In The Morning.]

The Command Of Custome Is Great.

Shall I, To Please Another Wine-sprung Minde, Lose All Mine Own? God Hath Giv'n Me A Measure Short Of His Can And Body; Must I Find A Pain In That, Wherein He Finds A Pleasure?