The Fatt Man Knoweth Not, What The

Reckon Right, And February Hath One And Thirty Daies.

Who Hath None To Still Him, May Weepe Out His Eyes. [who Hath None To Still Him, May Weep Out His Eyes.]

Bee Not A Baker, If Your Head Be Of Butter.

Parsons Are Soules Waggoners.

Of The Smells, Bread; Of The Tastes, Salt.