You Cannot Flea A Stone.

Hee Looseth Nothing, That Looseth Not God.

He That Plaies His Mony Ought Not To Value It.

I Envy No Man's Nightingale Or Spring; Nor Let Them Punish Me With Loss Of Rhyme, Who Plainly Say, My God, My King.

The Wolfe Must Dye In His Owne Skinne.

Long Jesting Was Never Good.