It's A Wicked Thing To Make A

Patience, Time And Money Accommodate All Things.

Bees Work For Man, And Yet They Never Bruise Their Master's Flower, But Leave It Having Done, As Fair As Ever And As Fit To Use; So Both The Flower Doth Stay And Honey Run.

A Dead Bee Maketh No Hony.

At The Games End We Shall See Who Gaines.

It's A Proud Horse That Will Not Carry His Owne Provender.