He Loves His Bonds Who, When The

You Say To Me-wards Your Affection's Strong; Pray Love Me Little, So You Love Me Long.

Give Me A Kiss, And To That Kiss A Score: Then To That Twenty, Add A Hundred More.

Feed Him Ye Must, Whose Food Fills You. And That This Pleasure Is Like Raine, Not Sent Ye For To Drowne Your Paine, But For To Make It Spring Againe.

Roses At First Were White, Till Thy Co'd Not Agree, Whether My Sapho's Breast, Or They More White Sho'd Be.

God Doth Not Promise Here To Man That Hewill Free Him Quickly From His Misery;but In His Own Time, And When He Thinks Fit,then He Will Give A Happy End To It.