Grief Melts Away Like Snow In May,

Love Makes One Fitt For Any Work.

To The Counsell Of Fooles A Woodden Bell.

I Read, And Sigh, And Wish I Were A Tree; For Sure Then I Should Grow To Fruit Or Shade: At Least Some Bird Would Trust Her Household To Me, And I Should Be Just.

A Well-bred Youth Neither Speakes Of Himselfe, Nor Being Spoken To Is Silent.

The Lame Goes As Farre As Your Staggerer. [the Lame Goes As Far As Your Staggerer.]