Let Anger's Fire Be Slow

Bees Work For Man, And Yet They Never Bruise Their Master's Flower, But Leave It Having Done, As Fair As Ever And As Fit To Use; So Both The Flower Doth Stay And Honey Run.

Where The Drink Goes In, There The Wit Goes Out.

As Flames Do Work And Wind When They Ascend, So Did I Weave Myself Into The Sense.

A Small Heart Hath Small Desires.

Good Workmen Are Seldom Rich.