The Rage Of A Wild Boar Is

I Read, And Sigh, And Wish I Were A Tree; For Sure Then I Should Grow To Fruit Or Shade: At Least Some Bird Would Trust Her Household To Me, And I Should Be Just.

The World Is Now Adayes, God Save The Conquerour.

Quick Beleevers Neede Broad Shoulders.

Hee That Stumbles And Falles Not, Mends His Pace.

A Dead Bee Maketh No Hony.