Here a little child I stand, Heaving up my either hand; Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, for a benison to fall on our meat, and on us all. Amen.

In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.

Each must in virtue strive for to excel; That man lives twice that lives the first life well.

Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse; Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.

Tears are the noble language of eyes, and when true love of words is destitute. The eye by tears speak, while the tongue is mute.

Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.

Who covets more is evermore a slave.