You Cannot Know Wine By The Barrell.

When A Lackey Comes To Hells Doore, The Devills Locke The Gates.

It's A Bold Mouse That Nestles In The Catts Eare.

I Envy No Man's Nightingale Or Spring; Nor Let Them Punish Me With Loss Of Rhyme, Who Plainly Say, My God, My King.

Saint Luke Was A Saint And A Physitian, Yet Is Dead.

Your Pot Broken Seemes Better Then My Whole One.