The Mill Gets By Going.

When You Enter Into A House, Leave The Anger Ever At The Doore.

Critics Are Like Brushers Of Noblemen's Clothes.

The Perswasion Of The Fortunate Swaies The Doubtfull.

Ah My Deare God! Though I Am Clean Forgot, Let Me Not Love Thee, If I Love Thee Not.

He That Sings On Friday, Will Weepe On Sunday.