To The Old, Long Life And Treasure;

A Thankful Man Owes A Courtesy Ever; The Unthankful But When He Needs It.

Doing, A Filthy Pleasure Is, And Short; And Done, We Straight Repent Us Of The Sport: Let Us Not Rush Blindly On Unto It, Like Lustful Beasts, That Only Know To Do It: For Lust Will Languish, And That Heat Decay, But Thus, Thus, Keeping Endless Holy-.

The Day For Whose Returns, And Many, All These Pray; And So Do I.

Folly Often Goes Beyond Her Bounds, But Impudence Knows None.

Whom The Disease Of Talking Still Once Posses-seth, He Can Never Hold His Peace.