Outdid The Meat, Outdid The

Conquer We Shall, But, We Must First Contend! It's Not The Fight That Crowns Us, But The End.

Praise They That Will Times Past, I Joy To See My Selfe Now Live: This Age Best Pleaseth Mee.

A Little Saint Best Fits A Little Shrine, A Little Prop Best Fits A Little Vine, As My Small Cruse Best Fits My Little Wine.

Her Eyes The Glowworm Lend Thee, The Shooting Stars Attend Thee; And The Elves Also, Whose Little Eyes Glow Like The Sparks Of Fire, Befriend Thee.

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.