Criticks Are Like Brushers Of Noblemens Cloaths.

Thornes Whiten Yet Doe Nothing.

Ill Natures, The More You Aske Them, The More They Stick.

Some Make A Conscience Of Spitting In The Church, Yet Robbe The Altar.

The Gowne Is His That We Ares It, And The World His That Enjoyes It.

Hee That Makes A Thing Too Fine, Breakes It.