Make Hay While The Sun

I Pray Thee Let Me And My Fellow Have A Haire Of The Dog That Bit Us Last Night.

Who Waiteth For Dead Man's Shoes Will Go Long Barefoot.

A Hard Beginning Maketh A Good Ending.

What Heart Can Think, Or Tongue Express, The Harm That Groweth Of Idleness?

When All Candles Be Out, All Cats Be Grey.