We Do It Soon Enough, If That

Fine Dressing Is A Foule House Swept Before The Doores.

Ever Since We Weare Cloathes, We Know Not One Another.

Throw Away Thy Rod, Throw Away Thy Wrath; O My God, Take The Gentle Path.

An Old Mans Staffe Is The Rapper Of Deaths Doore.

A Holy Habit Clenseth Not A Foule Soule.