When All Sinnes Grow Old, Coveteousnesse Is

If The Mother Had Not Beene In The Oven, Shee Had Never Sought Her Daughter There.

Neither Praise Nor Dispraise Thy Selfe, Thy Actins Serve The Turne. [neither Praise Nor Dispraise Thyself; Thy Actions Serve The Turn.]

All Things Have Their Place, Knew Wee How To Place Them.

The Body Is More Drest Then The Soule.

The Drunkard Forfeits Man And Doth Divest All Wordly Right, Save What He Hath By Beast.