A Snow Yeare, A Rich Yeare.

We Cannot Come To Honour Under Coverlet.

Bees Work For Man, And Yet They Never Bruise Their Master's Flower, But Leave It Having Done, As Fair As Ever And As Fit To Use; So Both The Flower Doth Stay And Honey Run.

None Knows The Weight Of Another's Burden.

Prosperity Lets Goe The Bridle.

There Is No Jollitie But Hath A Smack Of Folly. [there Is No Jollity But Hath A Smack Of Folly.]