No Love Is Foule, Nor Prison Fair.

Gaming, Women, And Wine, While They Laugh They Make Men Pine.

Vertue Flies From The Heart Of A Mercenary Man.

Your Pot Broken Seemes Better Then My Whole One.

The Constancy Of The Benefit Of The Yeere In Their Seasons Argues A Deity.

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.