Such a Saint, such an offering.

Take heed of a young wench, a prophetesse, and a Lattin bred woman.

Deceive not thy physician, confessor, nor lawyer.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul, like seasoned timber, never gives.

Ah my deare God! though I am clean forgot, Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.

All our pompe the earth covers.

Much money makes a Countrey poor, for it sets a dearer price on every thing.