After The House Is Finisht,

Of All Smells, Bread; Of All Tastes, Salt.

A Servant With This Clause Makes Drudgery Divine; Who Sweeps A Room As Forthy Laws Makes It And Th'action Fine.

Sorrow Was All My Soul; I Scarce Believed, Till Grief Did Tell Me Roundly, That I Lived.

You May Be On Land, Yet Not In A Garden.

Gossips Are Frogs, They Drinke And Talke.