Take Heede Of The Viniger Of Sweet

Religion A Stalking Horse To Shoot Other Foul.

It's A Proud Horse That Will Not Carry His Owne Provender.

When God Will, No Winde But Brings Raine.

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

Sorrow Was All My Soul; I Scarce Believed, Till Grief Did Tell Me Roundly, That I Lived.