All Are Presumed Good Till

Every One Thinkes His Sacke Heaviest.

You Cannot Flea A Stone.

The Physitian Owes All To The Patient, But The Patient Owes Nothing To Him But A Little Mony.

Enrich My Heart, Mouth, Hands In Me, With Faith, With Hope, With Charity, That I May Run, Rise, Rest With Thee.

Woe Be To Him That Reads But One Book.