A Faire Death Honours The Whole Life.

The Death Of A Young Wolfe Doth Never Come Too Soon.

He That Plaies His Mony Ought Not To Value It.

I Read, And Sigh, And Wish I Were A Tree; For Sure Then I Should Grow To Fruit Or Shade: At Least Some Bird Would Trust Her Household To Me, And I Should Be Just.

To Deceive Ones Selfe Is Very Easie.

No Sooner Is A Temple Built To God But The Devill Builds A Chappell Hard By.