He That Is Not In The Warres

Nothing Is To Be Presumed On, Or Despaired Of.

The Gentle Hawke Halfe Mans Her Selfe.

He That Hath Time And Looks For Better Time, Time Comes That He Repents Himself Of Time.

I Envy No Man's Nightingale Or Spring; Nor Let Them Punish Me With Loss Of Rhyme, Who Plainly Say, My God, My King.

Ill Comes In By Ells, And Goes Out By Inches.