For Washing His Hands, None Sels His

Of Faire Things, The Autumne Is Faire.

You Cannot Make A Windmill Go With A Pair Of Bellows.

There Is No Heat Of Affection But Is Joyned With Some Idlenesse Of Brain, Says The Spaniard.

Hee That Hath Charge Of Soules Transports Them Not In Bundles.

Let Not Him That Feares Feathers Come Among Wild-foule.