All Griefes With Bread Are Lesse.

He That Is Surprized With The First Frost Feeles It All The Winter After.

The Apothecaries Morter Spoiles The Luters Musick.

Every Man's Censure Is First Moulded In His Own Nature.

Listen, Sweet Dove, Unto My Song, And Spread Thy Golden Wings In Me; Hatching My Tender Heart So Long, Till It Get Wing, And Flie Away With Thee.

The Wife Is The Key Of The House.