They sent little Jane to the garden to play, But she opened the gate, and then trotted away Under the hawthorns and down the green lane, Bad little, mad little, runaway Jane!

Why wayle we then? why weary we the Gods with playnts, As if ſome euill were to her betight? She raignes a goddeſſe now emong the ſaintes, That whilome was the ſaynt of ſhepheardes light: And is enſtalled nowe in heauens hight.

Did you attend the brown bag Tuesday on healthy exercise habits?

carryings away of goods