That From Small Fires Comes Oft No

Say No Ill Of The Yeere, Till It Be Past. [say No Ill Of The Year Till It Be Past.]

The Cow Knows Not What Her Tail Is Worth Till She Has Lost It.

France Is A Meddow That Cuts Thrice A Yeere.

If That Thy Fame With Ev'ry Toy Be Pos'd, 'tis A Thin Web, Which Poysonous Fancies Make; But The Great Souldier's Honour Was Compos'd Of Thicker Stuf, Which Would Endure A Shake. Wisdom Picks Friends; Civility Plays The Rest; A Toy Shunn'd Cleanly Passeth With The Best.

Stay A Little And News Will Find You.