All Our Pompe The Earth Covers.

An Idle Youth, A Needy Age.

In The World Who Knowes Not To Swimme, Goes To The Bottome. [in The World, Who Knows Not To Swim Goes To The Bottom.]

It's No Sure Rule To Fish With A Cros-bow.

Religion, Credit, And The Eye Are Not To Be Touched.

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