Give A Clown Your Finger, And He

Talking Payes No Toll.

Greene Wood Makes A Hott Fire.

Some Evils Are Cured By Contempt.

The Fatt Man Knoweth Not, What The Leane Thinketh.

If That Thy Fame With Ev'ry Toy Be Pos'd, 'tis A Thin Web, Which Poysonous Fancies Make; But The Great Souldier's Honour Was Compos'd Of Thicker Stuf, Which Would Endure A Shake. Wisdom Picks Friends; Civility Plays The Rest; A Toy Shunn'd Cleanly Passeth With The Best.