He That Riseth Betimes Hath Some Thing

God's Breath In Man Returning To His Birth, The Soul In Paraphrase, Heart In Pilgrimage.

Where There Is No Honour, There Is No Griefe.

Hee Is A Foole That Thinks Not That Another Thinks.

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.

None Is Offended But By Himselfe.