Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say; But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.

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.

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

The body is the soul's poor house or home, whose ribs the laths are and whose flesh the loam.

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

A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.

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