When All Men Have What Belongs To

A Master Of Straw Eates A Servant Of Steele.

When A Man Sleepes, His Head Is In His Stomach.

Never Was A Miser A Brave Soul.

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.

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