Pull Downe Your Hatt On The Winds

If Folly Were Griefe Every House Would Weepe. [if Folly Were Grief, Every House Would Weep.]

Wisedome Hath One Foot On Land, And Another On Sea.

To Fine Folkes A Little Ill Finely Wrapt.

When Thou Dost Tell Another's Jest, Therein Omit The Oaths, Which True Wit Cannot Need; Pick Out Of Tales The Mirth, But Not The Sin.

Wealth Is Like Rheume, It Falles On The Weakest Parts.