Well May Hee Smell Fire,

The Perswasion Of The Fortunate Swaies The Doubtfull.

Every Bees Hony Is Sweet.

He That Lies With The Dogs, Riseth With Fleas.

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.

He That Hath Children, All His Morsels Are Not His Owne.