At The Games End We

Hee That Bewailes Himselfe Hath The Cure In His Hands.

Ty It Well, And Let It Goe.

There Is No Jollitie But Hath A Smack Of Folly. [there Is No Jollity But Hath A Smack Of Folly.]

The First Dish Pleaseth All.

Fine Dressing Is A Foule House Swept Before The Doores.