An Idle Youth, A Needy Age.

Who Hath No Hast In His Businesse, Mountaines To Him Seeme Valleys.

A Fair Day In Winter Is The Mother Of A Storme.

He Carries Well, To Whom It Waighes Not. [he Carries Well, To Whomit Weighs Not.]

Every Man's Censure Is First Moulded In His Own Nature.

In Every Countrey The Sun Rises In The Morning. [in Every Country The Sun Rises In The Morning.]