He That Sleeps Feels Not The Tooth-ache

Thy Friendship Makes Us Fresh.

And Oftentimes, To Win Us To Our Harm, The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths, Win Us With Honest Trifles, To Betray's In Deepest Consequence

Men Must Learn Now With Pity To Dispense; For Policy Sits Above Conscience.

An Old Black Ram Is Tupping Your White Ewe

To Loathe The Taste Of Sweetness, Whereof Little More Than A Little Is By Much Too Much.