Ready Mony Is A Ready Medicine.

He That Hath Hornes In His Bosom, Let Him Not Put Them On His Head.

True Beauty Lives On High. Ours Is But A Flame Borrowed Thence.

Let None Say, I Will Not Drinke Water.

The Thought Hath Good Leggs, And The Quill A Good Tongue.

The Physitian Owes All To The Patient, But The Patient Owes Nothing To Him But A Little Mony.