Of All Smells, Bread; Of All Tastes,

He That Talkes Much Of His Happinesse Summons Griefe.

An Ill Labourer Quarrells With His Tooles.

The Wolf Must Die In His Own Skin.

When You Are An Anvill, Hold You Still; When You Are A Hammer, Strike Your Fill.

The Fineness Which A Hymn Or Psalm Affords If When The Soul Unto The Lines Accords.