When The Sun Shineth, Make Hay.

Be Of Comfort, And Your Heavy Sorrow Part Equally Among Us; Storms Divided, Abate Their Force, And With Less Rage Are Guided.

Love Me Litle, Love Me Long.

Fieldes Have Eies And Woods Have Eares.

And While I At Length Debate And Beate The Bush, There Shall Steppe In Other Men And Catch The Burdes.

It Is A Foul Bird That Filleth His Own Nest.