Not An Angel Of The Air, Bird

Heat Not A Furnace For Your Foe So Hot That It Do Singe Yourself.

Be Not Afeard; The Isle Is Full Of Noises.

Were It Good To Set The Exact Wealth Of All Our States All At One Cast? To Set So Rich A Main On The Nice Hazard Of One Doubtful Hour? It Were Not Good.

The Last Taste Of Sweets Is Sweetest Last.

Tis Gold Which Buys Admittance--oft It Doth--yea, And Makes Diana's Rangers False Themselves, Yield Up This Deer To Th' Stand O' Th' Stealer: And 'tis Gold Which Makes The True Man Kill'd And Saves The Thief, Nay, Sometimes Hangs Both Thief And True Man.