When All Sinnes Grow Old, Coveteousnesse Is

As Flames Do Work And Wind When They Ascend, So Did I Weave Myself Into The Sense.

Good Newes May Bee Told At Any Time, But Ill In The Morning.

He That Praiseth Himselfe Spattereth Himselfe. [he That Praiseth Himself Spatteteth Himself.]

The Smith And His Penny Both Are Black.

Prosperity Lets Goe The Bridle.