The Tide Tarrieth No Man.

Every Cocke Is Proud On His Owne Dunghill.

Many Handis Make Light Warke.

Who Waite For Dead Men Shall Goe Long Barefoote.

Tis Not The Robe Or Garment I Affect; For Who Would Marry With A Suit Of Clothes?

I Know On Which Side My Bread Is Buttered.