Death Keeps No Calendar.

Critics Are Like Brushers Of Noblemen's Clothes.

Hee Wrongs Not An Old Man That Steales His Supper From Him.

Deceive Not Thy Physician, Confessor, Nor Lawyer.

What One Day Gives Us, Another Takes Away From Us. [what One Day Gives, Another Takes Away From Us.]

Shall I, To Please Another Wine-sprung Minde, Lose All Mine Own? God Hath Giv'n Me A Measure Short Of His Can And Body; Must I Find A Pain In That, Wherein He Finds A Pleasure?