Tears Are The Noble Language Of The

Let Wealth Come In By Comely Thrift, And Not By Any Sordid Shift; 't Is Haste Makes Waste; Extremes Have Still Their Fault. Who Gripes Too Hard The Dry And Slipp'ry Sand, Holds None At All, Or Little, In His Hand.

Love Is Maintain'd By Wealth: When All Is Spent, Adversity Then Breeds The Discontent.

Art Quickens Nature; Care Will Make A Face; Neglected Beauty Perisheth Apace.

Let My Muse Fail Of Thy Former Helps, And Only Use Her Inadulterate Strength. What's Done By Me Hereafter Shall Smell Of The Lamp, Not Thee.

The Readiness Of Doing Doth Expresse No Other But The Doer's Willingnesse.