Who Hastens A Glutton Choakes Him.

Were There No Hearers, There Would Be No Backbiters.

Sorrow Was All My Soul; I Scarce Believed, Till Grief Did Tell Me Roundly, That I Lived.

He That Feares Leaves, Let Him Not Goe Into The Wood.

The Fineness Which A Hymn Or Psalm Affords If When The Soul Unto The Lines Accords.

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