Keep Good Company, And You Shall Be

The Apothecaries Morter Spoiles The Luters Musick.

Hee That Wipes The Childs Nose, Kisseth The Mothers Cheeke.

He Warmes Too Neere That Burnes.

I Had Rather Ride On An Ass That Carries Me Than A Horse That Throws Me.

He Puls With A Long Rope, That Waits For Anothers Death.