For Every Inch That Is Not Fool,

Chaucer Followed Nature Everywhere, But Was Never So Bold To Go Beyond Her.

The Province Of The Soul Is Large Enough To Fill Up Every Cranny Of Your Time, And Leave You Much To Answer For If One Wretch Be Damned By Your Neglect.

There's A Proud Modesty In Merit; Averse From Asking, And Resolved To Pay Ten Times The Gifts It Asks.

Go Miser Go, For Money Sell Your Soul. Trade Wares For Wares And Trudge From Pole To Pole, So Others May Say When You Are Dead And Gone. See What A Vast Estate He Left His Son.

And That One Hunting, Which The Devil Design'd For One Fair Female, Lost Him Half The Kind.