In Things A Moderation Keep;

Give Me A Kiss, And To That Kiss A Score: Then To That Twenty, Add A Hundred More.

Feed Him Ye Must, Whose Food Fills You. And That This Pleasure Is Like Raine, Not Sent Ye For To Drowne Your Paine, But For To Make It Spring Againe.

I Sing Of Brooks, Of Blossoms, Birds, And Bowers: Of April, May, Or June, And July Flowers. I Sing Of Maypoles, Hock-carts, Wassails, Wakes, Of Bridegrooms, Brides, And Of The Bridal Cakes.

A Spark Neglected Makes A Mighty Fire.

Learn This Of Me, Where'er Thy Lot Doth Fall, Short Lot, Or Not, To Be Content With All.