It Is The End That Crowns Us,

Who After His Transgression Doth Repent, Is Halfe, Or Altogether, Innocent.

Gather Ye Rose-buds While Ye May, Old Time Is Still A Flying: And This Same Flower That Smiles To Day, Tomorrow Will Be Dying.

When Words We Want, Love Teacheth To Indite; And What We Blush To Speak, She Bids Us Write.

Here A Little Child I Stand, Heaving Up My Either Hand; Cold As Paddocks Though They Be, Here I Lift Them Up To Thee, For A Benison To Fall On Our Meat, And On Us All. Amen.

What Is A Kiss? Why This, As Some Approve: The Sure, Sweet Cement, Glue, And Lime Of Love.