The Life Of Spies Is To Know,

He Quits His Place Well, That Leaves His Friend There.

Hee That Wipes The Childs Nose, Kisseth The Mothers Cheeke.

He That Riseth Betimes Hath Some Thing In His Head.

A Cherefull Looke Makes A Dish A Feast.

All Are Not Merry That Dance Lightly.