A Faire Death Honours The Whole Life.

Hee That Looseth His Due, Gets Not Thankes.

Hope Is The Poor Man's Bread.

Go Not For Every Grief To The Physician, Nor For Every Quarrell To The Lawyer, Nor For Every Thirst To The Pot.

He That Hath A Head Of Waxe Must Not Walke In The Sunne. [he That Hath A Head Of Wax Must Not Walk In The Sun.]

A Broken Altar, Lord, Thy Servant Rears, Made Of A Heart, And Cemented With Tears.