Fortune To One Is Mother, To Another

Sorrow Was All My Soul; I Scarce Believed, Till Grief Did Tell Me Roundly, That I Lived.

Valour That Parlies Is Neare Yeelding. [valor That Parleys Is Near Yielding.]

If The Braine Sowes Not Corne, It Plants Thistles.

The Tree That God Plants, No Winde Hurts It.

The Morning Sunne Never Lasts A Day.