Who Remove Stones, Bruise Their Fingers.

Presse A Stick, And It Seemes A Youth.

Between The Businesse Of Life And The Day Of Death, A Space Ought To Be Interposed.

If That Thy Fame With Ev'ry Toy Be Pos'd, 'tis A Thin Web, Which Poysonous Fancies Make; But The Great Souldier's Honour Was Compos'd Of Thicker Stuf, Which Would Endure A Shake. Wisdom Picks Friends; Civility Plays The Rest; A Toy Shunn'd Cleanly Passeth With The Best.

Quick Beleevers Neede Broad Shoulders.

The Cow Knows Not What Her Tail Is Worth Till She Has Lost It.