Working And Making A Fire Doth Discretion

Let Thy Mind Still Be Bent, Still Plotting, Where, And When, And How Thy Business May Be Done. Slackness Breeds Worms; But The Sure Traveller, Though He Alights Sometimes Still Goeth On.

A Tyrant Is Most Tyrant To Himselfe.

At The Games End We Shall See Who Gaines.

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

Presse A Stick, And It Seemes A Youth.