It's An Ill Councell That Hath No

Take The Gentle Path.

He Puls With A Long Rope, That Waits For Anothers Death.

Serve A Noble Disposition, Though Poore, The Time Comes That Hee Will Repay Thee.

Hee That's Fed At Anothers Hand May Stay Long Ere He Be Full.

Whether Goest, Griefe? Where I Am Wont.