Still Fisheth He That Catcheth One.

I Read, And Sigh, And Wish I Were A Tree; For Sure Then I Should Grow To Fruit Or Shade: At Least Some Bird Would Trust Her Household To Me, And I Should Be Just.

Be What Thou Wouldst Seeme To Be.

Conversation Makes One What He Is.

Aske Much To Have A Little.

Where There Is No Honour, There Is No Griefe.