Hee That Is In A Taverne Thinkes

A Cherefull Looke Makes A Dish A Feast.

He That Hath No Good Trade, It Is To His Losse.

Let Thy Mind Still Be Bent, Still Plotting, Where, And When, And How Thy Business May Be Done. Slackness Breeds Worms; But The Sure Traveller, Though He Alights Sometimes Still Goeth On.

Fine Words Dresse Ill Deedes.

Love Makes All Hard Hearts Gentle.