Plant No Tree Sooner Than The Vine.

To Be Bowed By Grief Is Folly; Naught Is Gained By Melancholy; Better Than The Pain Of Thinking, Is To Steep The Sense In Drinking.

Tis Said That Wrath Is The Last Thing In A Man To Grow Old.

Plant No Tree Sooner Than The Vine.

Not Houses Finely Roofed Or The Stones Of Walls Well Builded, Nay Nor Canals And Dockyards Make The City, But Men Able To Use Their Opportunity.

Wine Is A Peep-hole On A Man.