Who covets more is evermore a slave.

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

When a daffadill I see, Hanging down his head towards me, Guess I may, what I must be: First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead: Lastly, safely buryed.

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

He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.

Men are suspicious; prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.

A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.