Count Not Fowre Except You

If Thou Do Ill, The Joy Fades, Not The Pains. If Well, The Pain Doth Fade, The Joy Remains.

He That Hath Love In His Brest, Hath Spurres In His Sides.

The Morning Sunne Never Lasts A Day.

They Talke Of Christmas So Long, That It Comes.

Death Keepes No Calender.