Empty Chambers Make Foolish Maides.

He That Lends, Gives.

He Puls With A Long Rope, That Waits For Anothers Death.

Let An Ill Man Lie In Thy Straw, And He Looks To Be Thy Heire.

If Folly Were Griefe Every House Would Weepe. [if Folly Were Grief, Every House Would Weep.]

Who Hath No Hast In His Businesse, Mountaines To Him Seeme Valleys.