Love Adds A Precious Seeing To The

Methinks You Are My Glass, And Not My Brother: I See By You I Am A Sweet-faced Youth.

He That Keeps Not Crust Nor Crum Weary Of All, Shall Want Some.

Besides, Our Nearness To The King In Love Is Near The Hate Of Those Love Not The King.

There Is Little Choice In A Barrel Of Rotten Apples.

When Holy And Devout Religious Men Are At Their Beads, 'tis Hard To Draw Them Thence; So Sweet Is Zealous Contemplation.