Next, When I Cast Mine

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.

O Thou, The Drink Of Gods And Angels! Wine

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

Things Are Evermore Sincere; / Candor Here, And Lustre There / Delighting.

The Readiness Of Doing Doth Expresse No Other But The Doer's Willingnesse.