Grasp Not At Much, For Fear Thou

At The Games End We Shall See Who Gaines.

Hee That Lives Ill, Feare Followes Him.

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

Love Bade Me Welcome, But My Soul Drew Back.

Criticks Are Like Brushers Of Noblemens Cloaths.