Every Man's Censure Is First Moulded In

Though The Mastiffe Be Gentile, Yet Bite Him Not By The Lippe.

Hee That Labours And Thrives Spins Gold.

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?

A Good Prayer Is Master Of Anothers Purse.

Beauty Drawes More Then Oxen.