Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.

In Vain Our Labours Are, Whatsoe'er They Be, Unless God Gives The Benediction.

A Little Saint Best Fits A Little Shrine, A Little Prop Best Fits A Little Vine, As My Small Cruse Best Fits My Little Wine.

Fain Would I Kiss My Julia's Dainty Leg, Which Is As White And Hairless As An Egg.

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

For Pitty, Sir, Find Out That Bee Which Bore My Love Away I'le Seek Him In Your Bonnet Brave, I'le Seek Him In Your Eyes.