Frenzy, Heresie, And Jealovsie, Seldome Cured.

There Come Nought Out Of The Sacke But What Was There.

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

The World Is Now Adayes, God Save The Conquerour.

He That Hath No Hony In His Pot, Let Him Have It In His Mouth.

None Is Offended But By Himselfe.