An Ill Deed Cannot Bring Honor.

To A Close Shorn Sheep, God Gives Wind By Measure.

Hee That Hath Patience Hath Fatt Thrushes For A Farthing.

Rise, Heart; Thy Lord Is Risen. Sing His Praise Without Delays, Who Takes Thee By The Hand, That Thou Likewise With Him Mayst Rise: That, As His Death Calcined Thee To Dust, His Life May Make Thee Gold, And, Much More, Just.

One Faire Day In Winter Makes Not Birds Merrie.

Talking Payes No Toll.