The Tongue Walkes Where The Teeth Speede

When A Knave Is In A Plumtree He Hath Neither Friend Nor Kin.

Sweet Rose, Whose Hue, Angry And Brave, Bids The Rash Gazer Wipe His Eye, Thy Root Is Even In The Grave, And Thou Must Die.

The Book Of Books, The Storehouse And Magazine Of Life And Comfort, The Holy Scriptures.

A Tyrant Is Most Tyrant To Himselfe.

Sink Not In Spirit; Who Aimeth At The Sky Shoots Higher Much Than He That Means A Tree.