Though The Mastiffe Be Gentile, Yet Bite

You Cannot Flea A Stone.

If Thou Do Ill, The Joy Fades, Not The Pains. If Well, The Pain Doth Fade, The Joy Remains.

Presents Of Love Fear Not To Be Ill Taken Of Strangers.

He That Hath No Good Trade, It Is To His Losse.

To Him That Will, Waies Are Not Wanting.