War Makes Thieves And Peace Hangs Them.

Nothing Is To Be Presumed On, Or Despaired Of.

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.

He That Hopes Not For Good, Feares Not Evill.

If Yee Would Know A Knave, Give Him A Staffe.

To Whirle The Eyes Too Much Shewes A Kites Braine.