It Is A Poor Sport That Is

The Physitian Owes All To The Patient, But The Patient Owes Nothing To Him But A Little Mony.

Marry Your Sonne When You Will; Your Daughter When You Can. [marry Your Son When You Will, Your Daughter When You Can.]

No Day So Clear But Hath Dark Clouds.

We Must Recoile A Little, To The End We May Leap The Better.

It's A Dangerous Fire Begins In The Bed-straw.