The Mr. Absent, And The House Dead.

Sorrow Was All My Soul; I Scarce Believed, Till Grief Did Tell Me Roundly, That I Lived.

Love Makes A Good Eye Squint.

Who Shuts His Hand Has Lost His Gold, Who Opens It Hath It Twice Told.

Whatever Is Made By The Hand Of Man, By The Hand Of Man May Be Overturned.

Where There Is No Honour, There Is No Griefe.