Who Remove Stones, Bruise Their Fingers.

He That Hath One Foot In The Straw, Hath Another In The Spittle.

In An Hundred Elles Of Contention, There Is Not An Inch Of Love.

He That Will Take The Bird, Must Not Skare It.

The Filth Under The White Snow, The Sunne Discovers.

Sorrow Was All My Soul; I Scarce Believed, Till Grief Did Tell Me Roundly, That I Lived.