God Sees Hearts As We See Faces.

The Tree That God Plants, No Winde Hurts It.

He That Hath Lands Hath Quarrells.

The Command Of Custome Is Great.

Who Will Sell The Cow, Must Say The Word.

I Read, And Sigh, And Wish I Were A Tree; For Sure Then I Should Grow To Fruit Or Shade: At Least Some Bird Would Trust Her Household To Me, And I Should Be Just.