None Saies His Garner Is Full.

Hee A Beast Doth Die, That Hath Done No Good To His Country.

A Crooked Log Makes A Strait Fire.

Who Says That Fictions Only And False Hair Become A Verse? Is There In Truth No Beauty? Is All Good Structure In A Winding Stair?

God's Mill Grinds Slow, But Sure.

No Profit To Honour, No Honour To Religion.