Call Me Not An Olive, Till Thou

A Wise Man Needes Not Blush For Changing His Purpose.

With Customes Wee Live Well, But Lawes Undoe Us.

Rise, Heart; Thy Lord Is Risen. Sing His Praise Without Delays, Who Takes Thee By The Hand, That Thou Likewise With Him Mayst Rise: That, As His Death Calcined Thee To Dust, His Life May Make Thee Gold, And, Much More, Just.

Mention Not A Halter In The House Of Him That Was Hanged.

War Is Death's Feast.