In A Long Journey Straw

A Rugged Stone Growes Smooth From Hand To Hand.

God Sends A Curst Cow Short Horns.

Hee That Bewailes Himselfe Hath The Cure In His Hands.

Give Me Simplicity, That I May Live, So Live And Like, That I May Know Thy Ways, Know Them And Practise Them: Then Shall I Give For This Poor Wreath, Give Thee A Crown Of Praise.

Speake Not Of A Dead Man At The Table.