Faire Is Not Faire, But That Which

The Hearts Letter Is Read In The Eyes.

Who Goes To Bed, And Doth Not Pray, Maketh Two Nights To Every Day!

Wealth Is The Conjurer's Devil, Whom, When He Thinks He Hath, The Devil Hath Him.

The Body Is More Drest Then The Soule.

The Thought Hath Good Leggs, And The Quill A Good Tongue.