Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.

In things a moderation keep; Kings ought to shear, not skin, their sheep.

Here a pretty Baby lies Sung asleep with Lullabies: Pray be silent, and not stirre The easie earth that covers her.

In vain our labours are, whatsoe'er they be, unless God gives the Benediction.

Tears are the noble language of the eye.

The person lives twice who lives the first life well

Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference known; Kings seek their subjects' good: tyrants their own.