In Things A Moderation Keep;

Each Must In Virtue Strive For To Excel; That Man Lives Twice That Lives The First Life Well.

Like Will To Like, Each Creature Loves His Kind.

Let Wealth Come In By Comely Thrift, And Not By Any Sordid Shift; 't Is Haste Makes Waste; Extremes Have Still Their Fault. Who Gripes Too Hard The Dry And Slipp'ry Sand, Holds None At All, Or Little, In His Hand.

You Say To Me-wards Your Affection's Strong; Pray Love Me Little, So You Love Me Long.

A Winning Wave, (deserving Note.) In The Tempestuous Petticote, A Careless Shoe-string, In Whose Tye I See A Wilde Civility,-- Doe More Bewitch Me Than When Art Is Too Precise In Every Part.