They That Touch Pitch Will Be Defiled.

On Rumor's Tongue Continual Slanders Ride.

Rich Gifts Wax Poor When Givers Prove Unkind.

Come, Gentlemen, I Hope We Shall Drink Down All Unkindness.

O My Good Lord, That Comfort Comes Too Late, 'tis Like A Pardon After Execution. That Gentle Physic, Given In Time, Had Cured Me; But Now I Am Past All Comforts Here But Prayers.

Fire That's Closest Kept Burns Most Of All.