Nature Hath Meal And Bran, Contempt And

The Let-alone Lies Not In Your Good Will.

That Thou Art Blamed Shall Not Be Thy Defect, For Slander's Mark Was Ever Yet The Fair; The Ornament Of Beauty Is Suspect, A Crow That Flies In Heaven's Sweetest Air.

Put Money In Thy Purse.

Let No Such Man Be Trusted.

The Loyalty, Well Held To Fools, Does Make Our Faith Mere Folly.