Wine Ever Paies For His Loding.

Rise, Heart; Thy Lord Is Risen. Sing His Praise Without Delays, Who Takes Thee By The Hand, That Thou Likewise With Him Mayst Rise: That, As His Death Calcined Thee To Dust, His Life May Make Thee Gold, And, Much More, Just.

The House Shewes The Owner.

Beauty Drawes More Then Oxen.

All Are Presumed Good Till They Are Found At Fault.

Saint Luke Was A Saint And A Physitian, Yet Is Dead.