What showers arise, blown with the windy tempest of my heart
There is nothing serious in Mortality
If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off his wit!
Nimble thought can jump both sea and land.
Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.