He Puls With A Long Rope, That

Who Spits Against Heaven, It Falls In His Face.

Water A Farre Off Quencheth Not Fire.

To Write A Verse Or Two Is All The Praise That I Can Raise.

In A Retreat The Lame Are Formost. [in A Retreat The Lame Are Foremost.]

A Sad, Wise Valor Is The Brave Complexion.