Each Must In Virtue Strive

Outdid The Meat, Outdid The Frolic Wine.

Those Saints, Which God Loves Best, The Devil Tempts Not Least.

When The Artless Doctor Sees No One Hope, But Of His Fees, And His Skill Runs On The Lees; Sweet Spirit, Comfort Me! When His Potion And His Pill, Has, Or None, Or Little Skill, Meet For Nothing, But To Kill; Sweet Spirit, Comfort Me!

The Person Lives Twice Who Lives The First Life Well

In Sober Mornings Do Not Thou Rehearse The Holy Incantation Of A Verse