The Filth Under The White

An Ill Labourer Quarrells With His Tooles.

Hunger Makes Dinners, Pastime Suppers.

Only A Sweet And Virtuous Soul, Like Season'd Timbered, Never Gives; But Though The Whole World Turn To Coal, Then Chiefly Lives.

Fooles Give To Please All But Their Owne.

He That Trusts In A Lie, Shall Perish In Truth.