Hast Comes Not Alone.

Gentility Is Nothing But Ancient Riches.

He That Gives Me Small Gifts Would Have Me Live.

Let Thy Mind Still Be Bent, Still Plotting, Where, And When, And How Thy Business May Be Done. Slackness Breeds Worms; But The Sure Traveller, Though He Alights Sometimes Still Goeth On.

God Heales, And The Physitian Hath The Thankes.

An Idle Youth, A Needy Age.