To Go Where The King Goes Afoot

A Pittifull Mother Makes A Scald Head.

The House Shewes The Owner.

Storms Make Oaks Take Deeper Root.

Rise, Heart; Thy Lord Is Risen. Sing His Praise Without Delays, Who Takes Thee By The Hand, That Thou Likewise With Him Mayst Rise: That, As His Death Calcined Thee To Dust, His Life May Make Thee Gold, And, Much More, Just.

Hee That Comes Of A Hen Must Scrape.