Outdid The Meat, Outdid The Frolic Wine.

The Body Is The Soul's Poor House Or Home, Whose Ribs The Laths Are And Whose Flesh The Loam.

Rise And Put On Your Foliage, And Be Seen To Come Forth, Like The Springtime, Fresh And Green

A Spark Neglected Makes A Mighty Fire.

Let Wealth Come In By Comely Thrift, And Not By Any Sordid Shift; 't Is Haste Makes Waste; Extremes Have Still Their Fault. Who Gripes Too Hard The Dry And Slipp'ry Sand, Holds None At All, Or Little, In His Hand.

Go To Your Banquet Then, But Use Delight So As To Rise Still With An Appetite.