Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.

O Thou, The Drink Of Gods And Angels! Wine

Welcome, Maids Of Honor, You Doe Bring In The Spring, And Wait Upon Her.

Go To Your Banquet Then, But Use Delight So As To Rise Still With An Appetite.

Here A Pretty Baby Lies Sung Asleep With Lullabies: Pray Be Silent, And Not Stirre The Easie Earth That Covers Her.

If Little Labour, Little Are Our Gains: Man's Fortunes Are According To His Pains.